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^lOS-ANGElftv, 

'* 


BY    THE   SAME    AUTHOR. 


Adopting  an   Abandoned   Farm. 

i6mo.     Boards,  50  cents. 

" '  Adopting  an  Abandoned  Farm '  has  as  much  laugh  to 
the  square  inch  as  any  book  1  have  read  this  many  a  day." — 
Boston  Sunday  Herald. 

"Miss  Kate  Sanborn  has  made  a  name  and  place  fur  herself 
beside  the  immortal  Sam  Slick,  and  has  made  Gooseville,  Con 
necticut,  as  illustrious  as  Slickville  in  Onion  County,  of  the  same 
State." — Tht  Critic. 

"  She  scores  a  point  in  every  paragraph." — Chicago  Interior. 

"If  any  one  wants  an  hour's  entertainment  for  a  warm  sunny 
day  on  the  piazza,  or  a  cold  wet  day  by  a  log  fire,  this  is  the 
book  that  will  furni*h  it." — Neiv  York  Observer. 

"  She  has  unwittingly  answered  a  much-vexed  question  while 
writing  a  truly  delightful  book." — Boston  Pilot. 

A    Truthful    Woman    in    Southern 

California.      I2mo.     Cloth,  75  cents. 

"The  veracious  writer  considers  the  pros  of  the  'glorious 
climate '  of  California,  and  then  she  gives  the  cons.  .  .  .  The 
book  is  sprightly,  and  amiably  entertaining.  The  descriptions 
have  the  true  Sanborn  touch  of  vitality  and  humor." — Philadel 
phia  Ledger. 

"  Miss  Sanborn  is  certainly  a  very  bright  writer,  and  when  a 
book  bears  her  name  it  is  safe  to  buy  it  and  put  it  aside  for  delec 
tation  when  a  leisure  hour  comes  along.  This  bit  of  a  volume 
is  enticing  in  every  page,  and  the  weather  seemed  not  to  be  so 
intolerably  hot  while  we  were  reading  it." — New  York  Herald. 

"  Her  descriptions  are  inimitable,  and  their  brilliancy  is  en 
hanced  with  quaint  and  witty  observations  and  brief  historical 
allusions  .  .  .  Valuable  information  and  richly  entertaining  de 
scriptions  are  admirably  blended  in  this  book."  Boston  Home 
you  rnal. 

New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


Hbanboning 
En  Hbopteb  jfarm 


*'    BY 

KATEA  SANBORN 

A 

AUTHOR   OF 

WIT   OF  WOMEN  ;   HOME   PICTURES   OF   ENGLISH    POETS  ;   VANITY 

AND    INSANITY,    SHADOWS    OF    GENIUS  ;    SUNSHINE   AND 

RAINBOW  CALENDARS  ;   ADOPTING  AN  ABANDONED 

FARM  ;   A   TRUTHFUL   WOMAN    IN    SOUTHERN 

CALIFORNIA  ;   ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1894 


COPYRIGHT,  1894, 
BY  D.   APPLETON   AND   COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  * 

I.— TRUTHFUL  SKETCHES  i 

II.— HIT  OR  MISS 26 

III. — BYGONES 48 

IV.— HELP! 66 

V. — WOMEN  AND  GEESE   ....  80 

VI. — UNPLEASANT  VISITORS       ...  92 

VII. — FACTS  ABOUT  FARMING     .        .        .109 

VIII. — TRIBULATIONS  AND  COMPENSATION  .  139 

IX.— HOME l68 


ABANDONING 
AN  ADOPTED  FARM. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TRUTHFUL    SKETCHES. 

"  There  is  nothing  so  improbable  as  truth." 

EDITH  BROWER. 

YES,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  I  am 
forced  by  the  pressure  of  circumstances, 
to  leave  the  dearly-beloved  Farm  of  my 
Adoption ;  but  not  from  caprice  or  lack 
of  interest  (or  capital)  in  this  place,  now 
reclaimed  and  beautified.  Determined 
always  to  see  the  sunny  side,  I  rejoice  in 
the  prospect  of  more  land  to  till — land 
that  is  now  my  own — more  complete  soli 
tude,  and  comparative  freedom  from  the 
inquisitiveness  and  persistence  of  passers- 
by,  tramps,  small  boys  with  kleptomaniac 
tendencies,  agents,  peddlers,  bores  of  all 
kinds,  the  insistent  shriek  of  the  rushing 
d) 


2     Qtbanboning  on  ^bopteb  -farm. 


locomotive,  and  strangers  from  near  and 
far  who  insist  on  seeing  my  hens ! 

A  former  cook,  corpulent  Bessie,  used 
to  exclaim,  "  Heaven  helping  me,  I'll 
never  leave  the  bandaged  farm !  "  But 
a  thriving  Dutchman  courted  her,  and 
appropriated  her  ample  proportions,  rais 
ing  her  to  a  higher  social  position ;  for, 
as  his  father  said  at  the  wedding :  "  My 
son  has  a  beautiful  brofession.  He  is  a 
blumber."  So,  in  spite  of  her  fixed  inten 
tions,  she  is  now  only  a  fat  memory. 

She  was  a  devout  Catholic,  almost  too 
devout.  In  the  midst  of  preparations  for 
a  dinner  for  city  guests,  who  were  wait 
ing,  I  have  noticed  her  in  a  corner  mur 
muring  prayers  over  her  beads;  and  when 
a  friend  cut  his  finger  and  ejaculated  a 
hasty  "  O  Lord !  "  she  raised  her  eyes, 
folded  her  hands  and  responded  reverent 
ly,  "  Amen ! " 

She  was  always  making  genuine  Irish 
bulls,  as  when  she  said,  on  hearing  me 
complain  of  my  immense  grain  bills,  "  If 
I  were  you,  Miss,  I  wouldn't  keep  any 
cows  this  winter — but  the  horse." 

But  she  has  gone  with  her  warm  heart, 


Sketches. 


good-natured  face,  and  the  piano  legs  she 
was  proud  to  display  in  a  clumsy  dance 
of  her  own  invention,  with  its  singing 
accompaniment  of  "  Idely,  idely,  idely, 
ide." 

I  also  supposed  I  should  live  and  die 
right  here,  and  I  too  must  depart. 

The  general  air  of  suspicion  with  which 
the  statements  in  my  book  are  received, 
and  the  fact  that  it  is  classed  as  "  Fic 
tion  "  in  public  libraries,  are  disheartening. 
1  judge  that  the  plain  everyday,  out-and- 
out  truth  is  so  seldom  told  that  it  is  not 
easily  recognized. 

A  novelist  has  assured  me  that  where 
he  made  up  plots  of  the  most  startling 
kinds,  the  reviewers  and  readers  pro 
nounced  them  true  to  Nature  and  life,  an 
absolute  reproduction  of  the  secrets  and 
mysteries,  bliss  and  agonies  of  love  or 
passion.  But  where  he  ventured  to  tell 
of  events  which  had  really  happened, 
hearts  that  had  truly  broken,  every  one 
had  condemned  his  work  as  unnatural, 
unreal,  improbable,  impossible. 

Another  writes  :  "  My  difficulty  has  been, 
when  I  looked  about  me  for  suggestive 


4     Qtbanboning  an  3Vbopte5  .farm. 


matter,  to  find  things  that  I  dared  to  tell ; 
and  it  is  a  fact  that  not  one  person  in  ten 
can  pick  out  the  true  from  the  false  in  a 
work  of  fiction.  If  ever  I  have  introduced 
a  veritable  incident,  that  is  the  point  upon 
which  some  one  or  other  is  sure  to  put  his 
finger  and  say,  'T/iis  you  invented,'  letting 
my  pure  fabrications  pass  unnoticed.  Once 
I  ventured  to  write  down  a  whole  story  al 
most  exactly  as  it  had  happened,  adding, 
by  way  of  setting  only,  a  sort  of  prologue 
and  epilogue.  An  editor  returned  it  with" 
the  stricture, '  Too  intentionally  pathetic ! ' 
I  was  reminded  of  the  ornithologist  who 
criticised  an  owl  in  a  shop  window.  '  The 
man  who  stuffed  that  owl,'  he  said,  '  knew 
nothing  whatever  of  the  genus  Strix.'  As 
he  discoursed  upon  the  true  anatomy  of 
owls,  enforcing  his  argument  by  the 
dreadful  example  in  the  window,  the 
dreadful  example  winked  at  him,  thereby 
cutting  short  the  discourse  and  saddening 
that  wise  man. 

"I  often  wish  I  had  tried  saddening  my 
editor,  by  showing  him  how  w/zintention- 
ally  pathetic  real  life  can  sometimes  be. 
I  politely  refrained  from  doing  so,  but 


®rutbfal  Sketches. 


since  then  I  have  concluded  that  artistic 
verities  are  a  humbug,  and  more  than 
ever  do  I  hug  to  my  heart  this  motto  of 
my  own  invention  :  Anything  may  happen." 

There  are  things  said  to  me  every  week 
of  my  life,  so  queer,  that  it  does  seem  as 
if  I  had  made  them  up  "  out  of  whole 
cloth  "  ;  but  no  one  can  do  this  success 
fully  in  the  line  of  original  sayings. 

For  instance,  I  offered  some  of  Huyler's 
best  the  other  day  to  an  old  man  who 
had  brought  me  some  extra  fine  popcorn 
as  a  gift,  and  he  said  :  "  Bless  you,  I  can't 
do  nothin'  with  it ;  I  haven't  got  but  one 
upper  teeth  !  "  No  one  could  evolve  that 
statement,  nor  the  question  and  remarks 
of  the  interested  old  lady  who  called  on 
me  to  beg  some  silk  pieces  to  patch  up. 
Running  up  and  down  stairs  during  the 
search,  I  became  decidedly  flushed,  and 
she  queried,  "Do  you  ever  have  fits?" 
"Why,  no — certainly  not,"  I  gasped; 
"why  do  you  say  that?"  "Well,  I  sup 
pose  you  know  you're  built  just  right  for 
fits."  And  as  I  panted  harder  at  such  a 
fearful  foreboding,  she  added,  musingly, 
"Yes,  just  the  build  for  fits." 


6     Qlbonboning  an  Qlbopteb  farm. 

And  I  recall  another  blow  to  my  van 
ity.  I  asked  a  carpenter  working  for  me 
to  adorn  a  cracked  and  weather-beaten 
door  with  some  putty  and  a  coat  of  paint. 
"  Yes'm,"  he  replied ;  "  paint  and  putty  will 
fix  up  a  thing  wonderful.  Lots  o'  hum 
bly  people  use  paint  and  putty.  But  I 
guess  you  and  I  hain't  tried  it  yet." 

Another  woman  caller  said,  as  she  left, 
"  As  you  seem  destined  to  the  fine  arts, 
hens,  and  vegetables,  I'm  sure  you  would 
enjoy  our  county  fair  !  " 

Could  any  one  invent  this  combination  ? 

Nevertheless,  my  stories  are  considered 
the  wildest  romancing. 

My  present  cook  tells  me  that  a  friend 
has  written  her,  "Do  see  if  there  is  any 
'  dark  room '  there,  or  a  stuffed  peacock, 
for  I  never  could  believe  it." 

In  summer  time  I  delight  in  roaming 
over  the  fields,  followed  by  a  flock  of 
hungry  hens  or  frolicsome  dogs.  I  like 
to  dig  and  plant,  and,  never  having  wed,* 
it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  might  be  left  to 

*  My  youthful  assistant  says,  "  I  have  wed  so  fur 
to-day." 


(Erutl)ftil  Sketches. 


weed  in  peaceful  seclusion  and  work  un 
observed.  But  passing  vehicles  are  sure 
to  slow  up,  eager  faces  peer  forth,  and  I 
am  stared  at  as  a  free  show.  I  hear,  too, 
the  unreserved  comments,  the  interroga 
tions  and  replies,  as  "  There  she  goes,  be 
hind  those  tall  hollyhocks.  Well,  she 
does  look  kind  o'  farmerlike,  sure  enough," 
or  "  Is  it  the  slim  one  going  in,  or  the  fat 
woman  by  the  fence?"  And  again: 
"  Who  is  it  that  lives  here  now  ?  Why, 
it's  that  Kate  Sanborn,  who  writes  lots  of 
love  stories,  and  gets  well  paid,  I  guess. 
She's  an  old  maid."  "  Well,  anybody 
would  know  that  by  those  damdold  lan 
terns  hung  round  the  piazza." 

When  I  had  the  honor  of  entertaining 
a  Hindoo  monk  last  summer,  a  man  of 
wondrous  learning,  eloquence,  and  phi 
lanthropy,  the  excitement  rose  to  fever 
height. 

I  had  met  him  in  the  observation  car 
of  the  Canadian  Pacific,  where  even  the 
gigantically  grand  scenery  of  mountains, 
canons,  glaciers,  and  the  Great  Divide 
could  not  take  my  eyes  entirely  from  the 
cosmopolitan  travellers,  all  en  route  for 


8     QUmnboning  an  ^.bopteb  .farm. 


Chicago.  Parsees  from  India,  Canton 
merchant  millionaires,  New-Zealanders, 
pretty  women  from  the  Philippine  Isles 
married  to  Portuguese  and  Spanish  trad 
ers,  Japanese  dignitaries  with  their  cul 
tivated  wives  and  collegiate  sons,  high 
bred  and  well  informed,  etc. 

I  talked  with  all.  They  cordially  in 
vited  me  to  visit  them  at  their  respective 
homes,  and  I,  nothing  abashed,  spoke  in 
rather  glowing  terms  of  my  rural  resi 
dence,  and  gave  each  my  card,  with  "  Met- 
calf,  Mass.,"  as  permanent  address. 

I  alluded  to  the  distinguished  men  and 
women  in  Boston  and  vicinity  who  were 
frequently  my  guests,  and  assured  all  of 
a  hearty  welcome  at  my  farm. 

But  most  of  all  was  I  impressed  by  the 
monk,  a  magnificent  specimen  of  man 
hood — six  feet  two,  as  handsome  as  Sal- 
vini  at  his  best,  with  a  lordly,  imposing 
stride,  as  if  he  ruled  the  universe,  and 
soft,  dark  eyes  that  could  flash  fire  if 
roused  or  dance  with  merriment  if  the 
conversation  amused  him. 

He  wore  a  bright  yellow  turban  many 
yards  in  length,  a  red  ochre  robe,  the 


®rntl)ful  Sketches.  9 

badge  of  his  calling;  this  was  tied  with  a 
pink  sash,  broad  and  heavily  befringed. 
Snuff-brown  trousers  and  russet  shoes 
completed  the  outfit. 

He  spoke  better  English  than  I  did, 
was  conversant  with  ancient  and  modern 
literature,  would  quote  easily  and  natu 
rally  from  Shakespeare  or  Longfellow 
or  Tennyson,  Darwin,  Miiller,  Tyndall ; 
could  repeat  pages  of  our  Bible,  was 
familiar  with  and  tolerant  of  all  creeds. 
He  was  an  education,  an  illumination,  a 
revelation  ! 

I  told  him,  as  we  separated,  I  should 
be  most  pleased  to  present  him  to  some 
men  and  women  of  learning  and  general 
culture,  if  by  any  chance  he  should  come 
to  Boston. 

We  parted.  I  fatigued  myself  into  pos 
itive  illness  by  my  pedestrian  and  cere 
bral  exertions  at  the  Exposition,  and  all 
that  motley  assemblage,  with  minds  as 
diverse  as  their  raiment,  was  only  a  high 
ly  colored  fantasy  of  the  past. 

Just  risen  from  a  sick  bed,  I  received  a 
telegram  of  forty-five  words  announcing 
that  my  reverend  friend  of  the  observa- 


io   Qlbanboning  an  Qlbopteb  .farm. 

tion  car  was  at  the  Quincy  House,  Bos 
ton,  and  awaiting  my  orders. 

Then  I  remembered  vividly.  I  had 
urged  him  to  accept  my  hospitalities  if 
he  felt  lonely  or  needed  help.  I  had 
promised  those  introductions  to  Harvard 
professors,  Concord  philosophers,  New 
York  capitalists,  women  of  fame,  position, 
and  means,  with  brilliant  gifts  in  writing 
and  conversation.  It  was  mid-August. 
Not  a  soul  was  in  town,  and  how  could  I 
entertain  my  gayly  appareled  pundit  ?  I 
was  aghast,  but  telegraphed  bravely : 
"Yours  received.  Come  to-day;  4.20 
train,  Boston  and  Albany." 

As  the  cars  stopped,  even  the  piercing 
whistle  had  a  derisive  sound,  and  I  trem 
bled  at  the  effect  he  might  produce  on 
the  crowd  gathered  for  the  mail.  But  he 
was  received  in  breathless  silence.  He 
was  such  a  surprise  ! 

If  he  had  looked  regal  but  bizarre 
among  a  group  collected  from  all  na 
tions,  he  was  simply  amazing  on  the  plat 
form  at  Gooseville.  His  luggage  was  so 
considerable  in  amount  that  the  train  was 
ten  minutes  late  at  the  next  stopping  place. 


He  had  brought  almost  a  Bodleian  Li 
brary  with  him  of  books  recondite  and 
rare,  heavy  in  either  sense. 

The  yellow  headgear  looked  a  brighter 
yellow  than  before. 

The  mulberry  pink  sash  failed  to  har 
monize  at  all  with  the  red  robe.  He 
seemed  slightly  surprised  by  the  simplici 
ty  and  quiet  of  the  place,  but  was  too 
courteous  to  speak  of  it. 

He  never  minded  the  stares  and  grins 
that  were  most  evident  to  me.  "  Shall  I 
give  up  the  costume  of  my  forefathers?" 
he  sensibly  inquired.  "  Shall  you  adopt 
the  trailing  robes  of  our  women  when  you 
visit  India  ? "  It  is  only  our  bad  man 
ners  and  ignorance  that  make  us  think 
everything  is  queer,  ludicrous,  or  wrong 
that  differs  from  our  own  way.  Rose 
Terry  Cooke  told  me  that  in  a  little  town 
where  she  once  lived  they  spoke  of  every 
stranger  as  a  "  furriner,"  and  there  were 
dislike  and  a  lurking  contempt  in  the  way 
the  word  was  used.  So  with  my  "  fur 
riner." 

But  the  climax  was  reached  the  next 
morning,  when  he  was  sitting  on  the  porch 


12    3\,banboning  an  ^bopteb  .farm. 


wrapped  in  deepest  thought — or,  rather, 
endeavoring  to  exclude  all  thought  from 
his  active  mind,  and  thus  give  room  for 
divine  light  and  communications  to  flow 
in.  As  he  sat  there,  immovable,  with  eyes 
vacant  and  fixed,  striving  for  an  approxi 
mate  condition  of  Nirvana,  Bill  Hanson 
came  round  the  back  way,  staring,  half 
awe-struck,  half  amused,  and  said  to  my 
man  :  "  Gosh  all  hemlock  !  What  has  she 
got  now,  and  how  did  she  make  it  ? " 

He  inclined  to  the  theory  that  it  was 
either  a  lifelike  wax  figure,  or  a  huge  rag 
doll,  which  I  had  built  and  painted  and 
stationed  there  for  effect  and  the  wonder 
ment  of  the  public. 

How  could  I  imagine  that  ?  So,  please, 
in  future  believe  implicitly  my  truthful 
tales.  It  was  trying  and  vastly  embar 
rassing  to  have  my  Oriental  visitor  in 
quire  in  rotund  but  melancholy  and  doubt 
ing  tones:  "Where  are  these  influential 
gentlemen,  these  women  you  promised 
me  ?  I  must  see  them,  and  begin  my 
struggle  for  my  poor  people." 

The  mail  bag  was  stuffed  next  morning 
with  frantic  appeals  for  help,  and  I  am 


®rutl)fni  Sketches.  13 


proud  to  say  that  my  friends  rallied  nobly 
from  their  vacation  haunts  by  seashore, 
lake,  and  mountain,  and  my  careless  prom 
ise  was  through  them  most  gloriously  ful 
filled. 

O  dear !  I  can  not  help  laughing  here 
all  by  myself  at  the  remembrance  of  one 
evening  when  fully  a  dozen  ladies  were 
gathered  around  my  honored  guest,  look 
ing  at  him  admiringly  and  at  each  other 
with  approving  words  as  he  explained  at 
length  his  creed  and  philosophy  and  plans 
for  bringing  the  wretched  masses  in  India 
out  of  their  poverty  and  suffering  by  in 
troducing  a  little  of  our  practical  way  of 
earning  money.  Then  he  told  us  that 
"the  soul  is  a  circle  whose  circumference 
is  nowhere  and  whose  center  can  be 
everywhere,  and  that  the  universe  is  a 
power  composed  of  the  Great  Infineet, 
and  each  separate  world  a  distinct  meter 
or  rhythm." 

My  overstrained  mind  began  to  wobble, 
and  I  found  I  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of 
my  chair,  with  eyes  aching  from  a  pro 
longed  stare  of  wonder,  my  mouth  posi 
tively  ajar,  like  a  rustic  at  a  muster;  and 


14   Qlbanboning  an  Qlbcpteb  -farm. 


as  he  talked  on  and  on  in  glowing  rhap 
sody,  I  suddenly  saw  myself  as  an  ex 
tremely  mature  American  Desdemona,  lis 
tening  intently  to  the  marvelous  eloquence 
of  my  Bengalese  Othello.  I  left  the  cir 
cle  to  indulge  in  immoderate,  half-hys 
teric  laughter  all  alone.  I  had  achieved 
success,  butJ,  too,  had  to  "struggle." 

He  called  me  "  Mother  "  at  parting — an 
especial  tribute  to  any  woman  in  India, 
as  he  explained.  I  appreciated  the  com 
pliment.  I  was  proud  of  such  a  son,  yet 
— and  yet  it  was  somehow  a  trifle  depress 
ing.  Of  course,  I  did  not  expect  my  fas 
cinating  guest  to  prostrate  himself  before 
me,  and,  laying  flowers  at  my  feet,  chant 
a  song  of  worshipful  admiration,  as  he 
had  said  was  the  proper  thing  to  do  on 
meeting  a  young  and  beautiful  woman. 
Oh,  no,  I  didn't  sigh  for  that  lovely  atten 
tion  ;  but  to  change  instanter  from  a  Des 
demona,  however  old,  to  a  sort  of  spin- 
sterial  Cornelia,  the  adopted  mother  of  a 
Hindoo  Gracchus,  it  was  either  sad  or 
supremely  funny,  with  a  leaning  toward 
pathos. 

Later,  a  note  of  inquiry  as  to  my  where- 


®ruthful  Sketches.  15 

abouts  was  received  from  the  senior  Par- 
see,  a  most  interesting  personage,  but  I 
let  it  remain  unanswered.  Very  rude,  but 
I  knew  I  could  not  do  this  sort  of  thing 
twice  with  the  same  eclat. 

The  sensation  produced  is  not  yet  en 
tirely  a  thing  of  the  past.  A  friend  pass 
ing  my  home  in  the  car  overheard  the 
following  dialogue  between  two  Irish 
women  as  they  looked  out  upon  my  hum 
ble  residence : 

"  And  is  that  the  place  where  the  Hin 
doo  praaste  was  entertained?"  "Yes,  it 
is,  but  he  was  not  a  praaste  at  all ;  it  is  a 
moonke  he  was."  "Well,  to  my  mind  it's 
a  mighty  poor  place  to  be  entertainin' 
either  a  moonke  or  a  praaste  !  " 

I'm  not  especially  sensitive,  still  could 
not  be  called  a  pachyderm,  and  this  con 
tinual  criticism  is  distressing.  1  want  to 
hide  away  in  deeper  depths  of  seclusion, 
where  I  can  wear  overalls  if  I  want  to, 
and  cowhide  boots,  mount  or  try  to  mount 
a  bicycle  in  my  own  grounds,  and  enter 
tain  the  Wild  Man  of  Borneo  if  he  should 
"just  come  to  town,"  without  a  chorus 
of  invidious  comment. 


1 6    QVbanboning  an  ^bopteb  .farm. 

My  unfeigned  interest  in  hens  and 
model  hen-houses  causes  me  another  trial. 
The  moment  any  one  ventures  to  keep 
more  than  fifty  fowls,  he  ceases  to  be  a 
private  individual  with  personal  rights 
and  is  the  property  of  the  public.  Visit 
ors  to  my  poultry  yard  come  uninvited, 
wander  where  they  choose,  borrowing 
ideas  and  disparaging  my  system,  and  if 
I  step  out  they  regard  me  with  surprise 
as  an  undesired  intruder.  One  man,  who 
preached  Sundays  and  was  a  butcher 
weekdays,  supplying  sausages  or  salva 
tion,  came  until  I  ventured  to  remon 
strate,  and  his  amazement  was  intense. 

"  I  saw  you  had  an  extensive  '  hen 
plant,'  and  couldn't  dream  you  would  ob 
ject  to  my  copying  your  good  ideas." 

A  professional  poultry  raiser,  a  good 
friend  of  mine,  agrees  with  me  that  the 
visitor  question  is  pressing,  and  the  per 
secuted  poultryman  should  have  his  side 
better  understood.  "  Why  should  a  raiser 
of  poultry  be  considered  the  legitimate 
prey  of  every  son  of  Adam  blessed  (?) 
with  a  Jittle  curiosity  ?  Directly  a  man 
has  put  up  a  poultry  house,  and  a  couple 


®rntl)ful  Sketches.  17 


of  dozen  fowls  are  seen  about  the  place, 
every  passer  stops  and  says  (to  himself)  : 
'  Hello  !  here's  a  hen  man.  I'll  go  in  and 
see  what  he's  got  to  say  about  the  chicken 
business!'  and  in  he  drives,  jumps  out 
of  his  carriage,  and  expects  you  to  show 
him  about  and  entertain  him  with  chunks 
of  information  about  your  methods  of 
feeding,  breeding,  management,  etc.  He 
doesn't  care  whether  you  are  busy  or  not. 
He  simply  has  a  little  curiosity  about  the 
poultry  business,  and  thinks  you  are  in 
duty  bound  to  'stand  and  deliver'  an 
swers  to  his  questions,  and  show  him  over 
the  premises,  so  long  as  he  has  honored 
you  with  a  call." 

On  Sundays,  my  place  fills  the  vacancy 
made  by  lack  of  Sunday  concerts  or  a 
cockpit  or  bullfight,  and  so  many  drove 
in  that  they  had  to  be  driven  out.  1  can 
not  convince  the  public  that  I  am  not 
running  a  show  for  all  who  care  to  in 
spect.  And  the  'remarks  are  so  aggra 
vating. 

Lately  my  four  hundred  hens  have  been 
on  a  simultaneous  strike  —  not  one  egg  for 
six  weeks.  Each  expert  consulted  gives 


1 8   &banboning  an  Qlbopteb  .farm. 


a  different  theory  and  plan  of  action. 
All  are  tried — no  effect.  Other  hen  wom 
en  seem  to  sniff  it  in  the  air  and  rejoice. 
One  old  dame  said,  with  supercilious  su 
periority  :  "  I  hear  your  hens  ain't  doing 
nothing.  Mine  are  laying  right  along. 
I  make  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  year 
clear  profit,  and  don't  keep  but  a  few 
neither.  I  don't  never  clean  out  my  hen 
shed.  Once  a  year  pa  he  carts  out  a  lot. 
Yours  are  too  fancy  and  too  fat.  It's  the 
mongrils  that  do  the  business.  My,  what 
a  lot  you  got !  Say,  can't  you  give  me 
that  Plymouth  Rock  rooster  ? "  (I  had 
just  purchased  a  beauty  for  ten  dollars.) 
"  He'd  look  well  in  my  yard,  and  I  like 
his  crow.  You'd  never  miss  him." 

When  I  mildly  disagreed,  she  evidently 
thought  me  close  and  stingy,  and  left,  re 
marking: 

"Well,  some  folks  have  all  their  good 
things  in  this  life,  as  the  Bible  says." 

After  she  went,  I  wondered  if  a  little 
wholesome  neglect  was  as  good  occasion 
ally  for  hens  as  for  children,  and  recalled 
the  bluff  wisdom  of  our  old  butcher  at 
home,  who,  seeing  a  little  boy  look  rather 


®rnil)ful  Sketchea.  19 

delicate,  or,  in  his  parlance,  "measly," 
said:  "You  let  him  run  and  take  care  of 
himself,  dig  in  the  dirt  all  day,  just  grub 
'round,  and  if  he  finds  any  worms  let  him 
eat  'em.  Do  him  good.  That's  the  way 
I  raised  my  seven  boys,  and  there  ain't  a 
healthier  lot  in  the  country." 

He  was  a  steady  drinker,  but  seldom 
drunk.  I  can  see  his  face  before  me. 
Snow-white,  curly  hair,  red  cheeks,  with 
fine,  purplish  streaks  (produced  by  good 
beef  and  poor  whisky),  sharp  blue  eyes, 
twinkling  with  fun.  My  father  once  asked 
him  rather  a  pointed  question  :  "  Mr.  Car 
son,  what  is  it  that  gives  you  such  a  red 
face?"  "Well,  professor,  I  guess  it's 
nothing  but  cider  apple-sass.  I'm  un 
common  fond  of  that,  you  know."  When 
he  was  on  his  death-bed  one  of  his  life 
long  patrons  called  and  endeavored  to 
cheer  him  by  saying  how  long  he  had 
been  indebted  to  him  for  excellent  meat. 
"Yes,  squire,  that's  so,  but  you  never 
knew  how  much  I  cheated  you,  just  the 
same,"  and  a  semblance  of  the  old  twinkle 
came  into  the  dull  eyes. 

Every  little  place  has  its  unique  char- 


20   ^banboning  an  Qlbopteb  .farm. 

acters,  its  eccentricities,  only  they  are  not 
chronicled.  In  my  New  Hampshire  home 
they  surely  abounded. 

There  was  old  Increase  Kimball,  snowy- 
haired,  with  a  long,  white  beard,  which  he 
had  vowed  never  to  shave ;  bent  form, 
bright  face,  and  his  right  hand  perma 
nently  disabled  from  being  once  practi 
cally  dealt  with  according  to  the  New  Tes 
tament  injunction,  "If  thy  right  hand  of 
fend  thee,  cut  it  off  and  cast  it  from  thee." 
It  will  not  do  to  indulge  in  a  strictly  lit 
eral  interpretation  of  Bible  commands. 
And  poor  Sally  Duget,  daughter  of  a  pop 
ular  physician,  her  life  ruined,  her  child 
dead,  herself  insane,  yet  witty  through  it 
all.  Her  repartees  were  inimitable,  and 
no  one  could  attempt  a  word  contest  with 
her  without  being  beaten.  She  would  wan 
der  down  from  her  forlorn  hut  on  a  dis 
tant  hillside  to  get  her  pail  filled  with  food 
and  ask  for  a  cup  of  tea,  and  no  one  could 
get  the  better  of  her  quick  wit.  One  day 
she  had  decked  herself  with  some  showy 
bit  of  faded  finery,  and^a  gentleman,  pass 
ing,  stopped  her  with  the  question,  "  Well, 
Sally,  are  you  going  to  get  married  ?" 


Sketches. 


"Yes,"  she  cried,  with  her  dark  eyes 
flashing,  "  if  you  and  I  can  make  a  bar 
gain." 

It  is  rather  risky  to  venture  on  the  in 
terrogative  form  of  warfare  with  a  bright 
woman,  even  when  demented. 

And  the  old  storekeeper,  who  had  been 
very  profane  and  converted  late  in  life, 
could  not  always  control  his  speech. 
During  a  revival  prayer  meeting  in  the 
schoolhouse  some  wicked  boys  put  pep 
per  on  the  red-hot  stove,  causing  an  epi 
demic  of  sneezing.  He  was  praying  fer 
vently,  but  stopped  to  sneeze,  then  ex 
claimed :  "By—  — !  There's  enemies  to 
religion  in  this  house !  H'ist  the  win 
dows  !  " 

The  seriously  disabled  Elder  Hodgkins, 
who  had  a  game  eye,  two  game  legs,  and 
as  much  difficulty  in  articulation  as  in  lo 
comotion,  thought  himself  a  match  for  the 
fairest  maiden  on  earth,  and,  although 
still  a  bachelor  at  sixty,  kept  on  offering 
himself  in  rotation  to  every  unappropri 
ated  girl,  woman,  or  widow  in  town,  and 
not  a  few  in  neighboring  villages.  His 
calls  were  late  because,  as  he  said  in  rau- 


22    Qlbanbonimj  an  Qlboptcb  .farm. 


cous,  mumbling,  "  The  Postal  Depart 
ment  is  very  confining,"  but  he  stayed 
long  enough  to  make  up  for  that. 

Once,  when  he  had  proposed  for  the 
second  time  to  a  rarely  gifted  woman  so 
far  above  him  that  he  must  have  been  in 
sane  to  hazard  his  fortune  with  her,  he 
was  kindly  but  firmly  assisted  to  the  door 
and  launched  forth  on  his  homeward  way, 
and  the  fatigued  family  sought  needed 
repose. 

About  i  A.  M.  a  thumping  at  the  door 
awakened  the  household,  and,  partially 
dressed,  the  head  of  the  house  went  down, 
armed  with  a  heavy  cane,  to  discover  the 
cause  of  the  disturbance,  and  found  the 
unfortunate  elder  on  his  back  like  a  mam 
moth  dorbug,  sprawling  helpless  in  the 
chill  of  a  November  night,  unable  to  turn 
over.  He  had  tottled  back  to  meekly 
apologize  for  his  temerity,  and  in  his  dis 
appointment  his  legs  were  even  less  sure 
than  usual. 

He  made  another  impressive  tableau 
vivant  when,  after  buying  two  dozen  fresh 
eggs  at  the  grocer's,  he  slipped  while  tot- 
tling  down  the  steps  and  sat  down  heavily 


Sketches.  23 


in  the  center  of  the  basket,  producing  a 
Turneresque  pastel  effect  (or  perhaps  it 
would  belong  more  strictly  to  the  French 
impressionist  school)  in  the  rear  view  as 
he  was  lifted  up. 

And  that  pioneer  tramp,  Webb  Hall, 
who  wandered  about  in  picturesque  rags 
begging  for  "  cold  victuals  "  from  door  to 
door,  half-cracked,  but  sometimes  shrewd 
enough.  Some  men,  who  happened  to  be 
Democrats,  were  rallying  him  about  his 
appearance.  "Yes,  gentlemen,"  he  re 
plied,  "you  might  take  me  to  be  a  Demo 
crat  from  my  clothes,  but  I  haven't  got 
so  low  yet  as  to  train  with  such  com 


pany  ! 

Considering  himself  unjustly  treated  by 
a  judge  in  the  capital  of  the  State,  he 
did  not  turn  to  infernal  machines,  and  did 
not  dream  of  dynamite,  but  thirsted  for 
revenge  in  a  manly  fashion,  and  would 
thus  explain  his  plan  of  action  :  "  I  shall 
buy  two  guns,  and  go  down  to  Concord 
and  shoot  Judge  Bemis  with  one  and  kill 
myself  with  the  other  ;  or  else  I  shall  wait 
quietly  till  spring  and  see  what  will  be 
come  of  it." 


24   Qlbanboning  an  ^.bopteb  farm. 


I  also  remember  certain  speeches  which 
are  worth  preserving — as  the  statement  of 
a  witness  when  questioned  as  to  the  num 
ber  of  students  who  broke  into  his  store 
for  liquor,  that  as  "  near  as  he  could  make 
out  there  was  betwixt  six  and  seven." 
(He  afterward  figured  as  the  hero  of 
Hoyt's  "  Temperance  Town.") 

Like  the  Irishman,  who  was  superin 
tending  an  excavation,  shouting  down  to 
his  "  gang  "  : 

"  How  many  of  ye's  down  there  ?  " 

"  Five,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Half  of  ye's  come  up  here  !  " 

I  recall  the  puzzlement  of  old  Lecount, 
over  the  river,  who  came  one  year  to  peti 
tion  money  to  buy  a  cow,  as  his  had  tum 
bled  over  a  precipice  and  broken  its  neck. 
It  was  given.  But  at  the  same  time  the 
next  year  he  was  round  again  for  another 
bovine,  saying,  "  It's  the  singularest  thing 
in  natur',  but  that  plaguy  critter  went 
over  the  same  precipice  !  " 

And  the  retort  of  a  bright  Scotch  woman, 
an  old  maid,  who  was  gingerly  questioned 
by  a  red-headed  physician  as  to  why  she 
never  got  married  :  "  Well,  doctor,  I'll  tell 


$rmhfttl  Sketches.  25 


you.  I  made  up  my  mind  early  in  life 
that  nothing  would  induce  me  to  marry  a 
man  with  red  hair,  and  no  one  else  has  ever 
proposed." 

Or  the  exceeding  optimism  of  an  old 
fellow — tall,  lanky,  thin,  with  a  narrow 
head  and  long,  straight  hair,  to  whom  my 
father  gave  many  articles  of  clothing. 
This  time  he  had  bestowed  a  "  beaver," 
an  old  silk  hat  of  abnormal  size.  It  was 
tried  on*  and  the  entire  head  was  com 
pletely  obscured. 

"  You  can't  wear  that,"  said  father; 
"  it's  a  mile  too  big  for  you." 

"  It  is  a  leetle  large,"  said  the  grateful 
recipient,  reappearing  from  beneath  the 
extinguisher,  "but  I'll  take  it  along.  My 
hair  may  thicken  up." 

Oh,  yes,  just  keep  your  eyes  and  ears 
open,  and  you  will  soon  find  a  wealth  of 
material  for  character  sketches  wherever 
you  may  be.  Or,  to  adapt  whimsically 
from  Shakespeare  :  "  To  have  seen  what 
I  have  seen,  see  what  I  see !  " 


CHAPTER   II. 

HIT    OR    MISS. 

She  talked  of  politics  or  prayers, 

Of  Southey's  prose  or  Wordsworth's  sonnets, 
Of  danglers  or  of  dancing  bears, 

Of  battles  or  the  last  new  bonnets. 

W.  M.  PRAED. 

I  DESIRE  to  apologize  to  Foxboro'  and 
every  inhabitant  thereof  who  may  hap 
pen  to  know  of  my  unintentional  affront. 

In  giving  the  name  of  that  large  and 
prosperous  town  to  the  scenes  of  my 
tragi-comic  initiation  into  an  agricul 
tural  career,  I  never  knew  that  such  a 
place  existed.  And  wanting  to  insinuate 
in  a  sly  yet  genial  way  that  I  had  been 
considerably  imposed  upon,  with  the  old 
game  of  Fox  and  Geese  reversed,  I  said 
I  was  a  goose  at  Foxboro',  like  a  mouse 
at  Catsville. 

The  game  has  been  played.    I  was  sup 
posed  to  have  some  money  and  no  expe 
rience  ;  now  it's  the  other  way. 
(26) 


Ijit  or  ifliss.  27 

It  must  have  been  a  poor  joke,  for  no 
one  ever  saw  the  point  or  application, 
and  I  am  obliged  now  to  explain  it  at 
length,  at  the  risk  of  being  considered 
egotistic. 

Perhaps  a  New  Hampshire  woman, 
transplanted  early  to  New  York,  will  be 
pardoned  for  not  knowing  all  the  tires  of 
the  immense  wheel  of  which  Boston  is 
the  Hub. 

Egotism  in  print  is  not  so  insufferable 
as  in  close  conversation.  It  is  hard  to 
escape  from  a  garrulous  bore  at  your 
elbow,  but  you  can  drop  a  paper  or  book 
instanter,  or  turn  to  a  more  promising 
page,  or  sink  in  peaceful  slumber,  narco 
tized  by  the  tedious  narrative. 

So  you  will  allow  me  to  ramble  on  ? 

Reporters  rushed  to  Foxboro"  in  hot 
test  dog-dayest  weather  to  look  up  the 
"Abandoned  Farm."  No  one  had  heard 
of  it.  The  postmistress  knew  no  such 
place,  no  such  "party,"  but  pointed  to  a 
small  mountain  of  mail  matter  directed 
to  me  there,  and  wished  she  knew  how  to 
get  rid  of  it. 

One  interviewer,  more  persistent  than 
3 


28    ntbanboning  an  &b0pteb  .farm. 


the  rest,  did  find  a  sister  spinster  of  eighty- 
one  summers  with  the  same  name  but  with 
no  proclivities  for  agriculture.  My  dense 
ignorance  was  mortifying. 

I  wish  also  to  add  that  "Gooseville"  is 
my  name  for  my  special  portion  of  Met- 
calf  (for  myself  and  three  other  geese), 
and  has  no  pertinence  whatever  as  ap 
plied  to  the  other  inhabitants,  many  of 
whom  are  my  true  friends,  to  whom  I  am 
strongly  attached. 

Metcalf  is  a  station  in  Holliston,  is  on 
no  map,  has  no  telegraph  office,  and  but 
one  mail  per  day,  which  brings  the  letters 
of  day  before  yesterday.  The  outgoing 
mail  leaves  at  such  an  unconscionably 
early  hour  that  we  can  only  mail  yester 
day's  letters  day  after  to-morrow  ! 

It  sometimes  happens,  when  surprised 
by  a  bevy  of  unexpected  visitors  who 
have  come  out  "  just  for  a  lark  and 
a  light  lunch,  my  dear " — which  always 
means  the  expectation  of  a  big  country 
dinner,  and  I  dash  out  and  order  a  couple 
of  chickens  slain  and  scratch  up  an  im 
promptu  refection  of  those  old  stand-bys, 
sardines,  deviled  ham,  Edam  cheese,  and 


•fijit  or  ittiss.  29 

the  ever-present  pie,  while  said  visitors 
in  a  starving  condition  are  wondering  at 
my  enforced  absence — that  a  messenger 
drives  up  with  foaming  steed  and  a  bill 
for  "  special  delivery,"  announcing  the  in 
tentions  of  the  aforesaid  visitors  to  drop  in 
upon  me.  Sometimes  as  they  are  leaving 
the  station  they  are  requested,  if  going  to 
Miss  Sanborn's,  to  kindly  carry  over  a 
telegram,  which  proves  to  be  their  own  ! 

An  air  of  deep  mystery  hangs  over  the 
locality.  "What  is  the  name  of  that  place 
where  Kate  has  hid  herself?"  said  a  well- 
known  New  York  artist  to  his  wife.  "  She 
invited  me  to  stop  there  on  my  way  to 
Boston.  Is  it  Lambsboro',  or  Calfsville  ? " 

Another  distinguished  friend,  who  has 
for  a  lifetime  been  identified  with  express 
interests  and  railroads,  heard  his  wife  say, 
one  morning,  "  I've  got  a  letter  from  Kate 
at  her  new  home,  and  she's  quite  near  us 
now,  at  Metcalf,  Mass." 

He  repeated  her  last  two  words  with 
thunderous  scorn.  "Metcalf,  Mass.!  Met 
calf!  There's  no  such  place.  She's  made 
a  mistake.  Her  writing  is  so  bad  you 
can't  make  it  out." 


3°   ^banboning  an  Qlbopteb  .farm. 


"But,"  she  quietly  persisted,  "here  is 
her  envelope,  my  dear,  clearly  stamped 
"  Metcalf,  Mass."  I  don't  suppose  the 
postmaster  has  entered  into  any  plot  for 
deceiving  us!  " 

"  I  tell  you  there  is  no  such  place ! 
Don't  I  know  every  town,  village,  city, 
hamlet  in  all  Massachusetts  ?  Find  it  on 
the  map,  and  I'll  give  you  a  handsome 
present.  There's  no  such  place." 

The  wife  searched  the  atlas  sadly.  The 
husband  took  the  train  for  town.  As  the 
conductor  punched  his  ticket,  Metcalf  and 
its  impossibility  were  still  on  his  mind. 
A  man  always  knows  he's  right,  but  likes 
to  have  it  confirmed.  "  Look  here !  Is 
there  such  a  town  as  Metcalf  on  this 
road  ? " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  I  thought  so." 

"  But  there  is  a  stopping  place  with  that 
name." 

"  Well,  I  am  surprised.  What's  the  pop 
ulation  ? " 

"  Population  !  "  and  he  burst  out  laugh 
ing  ;  "  there  ain't  any  !  " 

"  What  is  there,  then  ?  " 


$it  or  Jttiss.  31 

"Oh,  three  houses  and  four  cows,"  and 
he  hurried  on. 

He  next  went  into  the  baggage  car  and 
consulted  the  expressman. 

"Do  you  know  a  lady  by  the  name  c»f 
Sanborn,  that  has  taken  a  house  in  Met- 
calf  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  guess  so.  There's  a  stout, 
buxom,  red-headed  woman  with  hair  all 
a-flying.  I  see  her  coming  down  the  road 
'most  every  day  to  meet  some  one,  or  get 
a  package,  and  I  believe  they  do  say  her 
name's  Sanborn." 

Yes,  we  do  have  a  local  habitation  and 
a  name,  and  are  rapidly  growing.  In  fact, 
my  optimistic  eye  discerns  a  coming  boom 
in  real  estate.  Three  unoccupied  farms 
have  recently  been  purchased  and  greatly 
improved ;  a  flagstaff  has  been  raised  in 
front  of  the  depot ;  a  new  guide-post  an 
nounces  in  large  letters  the  exact  distance 
of  Providence  and  Boston  from  Metcalf ; 
one  man  thinks  of  painting  his  house  yel 
low,  in  the  spring,  if  the  financial  strin 
gency  lets  up.  Two  famous  authors,  fas 
cinated  by  my  happy  life,  have  consulted 
me  about  a  permanent  residence  here ; 


32    Qlbanboning  an  QUroptcb  .farm. 

one,  a  woman  afflicted  with  insomnia,  who 
wanted  me,  as  "woman  for  woman,"  to 
silence  my  entire  menagerie  from  sun 
down  until  10  A.  M.  ;  the  other,  a  novelist, 
who  has  written  of  inexpensive  homes  he 
found  across  the  ocean,  and  hoped  he 
could  secure  a  place  like  mine.  As  the 
old  granny  remarked  when  the  cars  first 
passed  through  her  village,  built  upon  an 
inland  hill,  "Well,  it  will  be  a  seaport 
afore  we  know  it !  " 

I  think  in  time  Metcalf  will  attain  a 
mature  dignity  of  nomenclature  and  be 
dubbed  Metcow.  Before  that,  I  must  take 
a  trip  to  Russia  for  the  purpose  of  utiliz 
ing  a  proposed  title,  "  From  Metcalf  to 
Moscow." 

A  friend  who  often  visits  me,  and  looks 
upon  my  life  here  as  an  unfailing  source 
of  merriment,  dates  letters  from  "  Met 
cow,"  "  Metheifer,"  "  Met-bull-calf-but- 
managed-to-get-over-fence,"  or  "  Had- 
the-pleasure-of-meeting-bull."  Such  let 
ters  are  described  as  "  Metbulletins." 

To  return  to  my  good  friend,  for  whom 
I  want  to  "  express "  the  truest  regard. 
I  can  not  withhold  from  those  who  have 


fit  or  Jflise.  33 

had  the  strength  to  follow  me  thus  far 
one  or  two  of  his  excellent  stories,  though 
I  can  not  do  him  justice.  And,  first,  the 
inimitable  way  in  which  he  commented 
upon  my  enthusiastic  praise  of  his  beau 
tiful  country  seat  as  I  sat  on  the  broad 
veranda,  with  its  background  of  choice 
flowers  and  a  charming  perspective  of 
velvety  lawn,  fine  trees,  parterres  of  bril 
liant  blossoms  and  variegated  colors, 
and  the  lazy  Charles  River  meandering 
through  a  densely  wooded  park.  He 
seemed  weary,  and  I  was  not  speaking  to 
him,  but  he  was  listening  as  I  said  in  my 
gushing  way :  "  Oh,  this  is  a  paradise  ! 
How  I  would  like  to  come  here  and  sit 
down  in  a  corner,  be  invisible,  and  not 
say  one  word — just  revel  in  the  view !  " 

"That's  just  the  kind  of  visit  I'd  like 
to  have  you  make,"  he  responded. 

Of  all  his  good  stories  I  like  this  one 
best : 

He  says  that  at  school,  one  winter,  the 
teacher,  a  better  specimen  than  they  usu 
ally  had,  fine  looking  and  thoroughly 
educated,  had  little  mercy  for  the  stupid 
scholars,  and  was  especially  tried  by  an 


.34   Qlbanboning  an  Qlboptcb  .farm. 

overgrown  lummux,  who  was  bright 
enough  in  some  studies  but  hopelessly 
deficient  in  mathematics.  He  also  stut 
tered  a  little,  and  made  the  usual  wry 
faces  in  trying  to  get  his  words  out. 

One  day,  when  Mr.  Duncan  was  dis 
gusted  by  his  failure  to  do  a  simple  sum 
in  subtraction,  he  rubbed  out  the  figures 
on  his  slate  and  put  down  six  ciphers,  and 
six  more  underneath  these,  drew  a  line, 
and  handing  back  the  slate  to  the  dull 
ard,  said  gruffly,  "  There !  see  if  you  can 
subtract  that." 

The  poor  boy  gazed  stolidly  at  this 
new  sum.  It  looked  queer  and  hard  : 

oooooo 
oooooo 


He  at  last  tackles  it  in  this  way,  slowly 
stumbling  along,  making  hideous  grim 
aces  as  he  progressed : 

"  Nawthin/>wtt  nawthin  leaves — nawth- 
in.  Nawthin  from  nawthin  —  leaves  — 
nawthin.  Nawthin  from  —  nawthin  — 
leaves  nawthin.  Nawthin  from  nawthin 
leaves nawthin.  Nawthin  from  nawth 
in  leaves nau'thin." 


l)it  or  ffliso.  35 

Then  he  paused  confused,  but  rallying 
all  his  brain  power  and  making  the  worst 
face  of  all,  exclaimed :  "  Gad,  if  I'm  ever 
goin'  to  carry  I've  got  to  carry  now! 
Nawthin  —  from  —  nawthin  —  leaves  ?  ? ! 
one  !  " 

One  other  example  of  my  absolute  ad 
herence  to  facts  I  would  like  to  give  be 
fore  going  further. 

Last  summer  a  dear  friend,  just  returned 
from  a  gay  resort,  was  kind  enough  to 
give  me  a  few  days.  We  were  sitting  in 
the  quietest  way.  Her  only  boy  was  at 
play  somewhere.  I  was  reading  aloud. 

The  silence  was  so  intense  it  could  al 
most  be  heard.  It  did  seem  dull  to  her, 
no  doubt,  and  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence 
she  interrupted  me,  saying :  "  Kate,  I  do 
try  to  believe  what  you  say,  but  you 
know  you  made  up  what  you  said  about 
something  always  happening  here,  and  a 
continual  state  of  excitement.  It's  as 
quiet  as  the —  Hark  !  oh,  horrors,  what 
is  it?"  She  screamed,  as  a  tremendous 
crash  and  the  rattle  of  broken  glass 
came  in  emphatic  rebuttal  of  her  unbe 
lief.  "Heavens!  has  the  side  of  the  house 


36   &banboning  an  SlbopUfc  .farm. 

fallen  in,  or  is  it  an  earthquake  ?  And 
oh,  where  is  Karl,  my  precious  Karl  ?  He 
may  be  killed  now  !  I  was  half  afraid  to 
bring  him  anyway." 

I  was  equally  surprised.  What  could 
have  made  all  that  noise  ? 

We  two  listened  with  bated  breath  for 
more.  At  last  we  heard  hurrying  steps 
and  excited  voices.  The  help  were  roused 
to  action.  But  what  was  it  ?  House  ex 
amined  from  top  to  bottom.  No  plaster 
had  fallen;  nothing  had  caved  in;  house 
was  intact ;  barn  scaffold  as  strong  as 
ever ;  hen  house  all  right  there.  Karl 
was  found  safe  and  sound  down  by  the 
lakelet  floating  a  tiny  skiff  for  the  dogs 
to  bring  in.  The  sun  shone  serenely. 
There  had  evidently  been  no  earthquake. 
Was  it  a  day-nightmare  ? 

At  last  some  one  thought  of  the  cellar, 
and  we  ventured  down.  All  seemed  nor 
mal  even  there,  but  we  opened  the  door 
of  the  small  room,  and  there  it  was!  The 
ropes,  too  long  tested  by  the  big  swing 
cupboard,  had  given  way,  letti-ng  down 
three  long  shelves  laden  with  preserves 
in  all  sorts  of  delicious  permutations. 


or      isQ.  37 


Jams,  jellies,  and  pickles,  down  they 
dashed  on  to  a  rickety  old  table  also 
loaded  with  goodies.  All,  all  had  gone 
down  in  a  general  collapse. 

From  the  advent  of  the  early  pie  plant 
to  the  ripening  of  the  brilliant  but  as 
tringent  barberry,  which  combined  with 
pears  makes  a  relishing  compote,  I  had 
toiled  first  to  gather  and  then  to  pick 
over  and  prepare,  and  then  stand  over  a 
hot  stove,  waiting  for  the  concoction  to 
"jell  "  or  to  boil  up,  and  now  all  was  gone  ! 

That  dreadful  mess  represented  hours 
of  toil  and  at  least  a  barrel  of  sugar,  and 
the  hopes  that  perished  there.  For  my 
guests  depend  upon  finding  lots  of  "  sass  " 
on  the  table  as  well  as  coming  from  my 
own  lips. 

A  wheelbarrow  and  a  couple  of  shovels 
were  lumbered  down  and  up  the  cellar 
stairs  several  times  to  cart  off  the  sicken 
ing  debris.  It  was  used  to  fill  up  an  old 
well,  refuting  the  truth  of  the  familiar 
proverb,  "All's  well  that  ends  well."  But 
one  can  find  fault  with  many  of  our  oft- 
quoted  proverbs. 

As  we  sat  down  and  resumed  our  read- 


38   &ban5oning  an  &boptcb  farm. 


ing  my  friend  again  interrupted  me,  and 
remarked  humbly,  "Well,  I'll  never  again 
doubt  one  word  you  say — at  least  when  I 
am  here,  and  unless  my  loved  ones  are  at 
a  safe  distance  from  these  impending  dan 
gers  !" 

Those  desiring  her  name  as  a  reliable 
witness  will  please  address  me  (with  stamp 
inclosed). 

Apropos  of  earthquakes  and  "  nothing 
happening"  I  will  tell  you  of  my  first  ex 
perience  with  a  big-sized  "  seismic  disturb 
ance  "  in  San  Diego. 

We  had  dawdled  stupidly  for  weeks  on 
the  Sun  Porch  of  the  "  Florence,"  walked 
about  the  sleepy  town  more  than  half 
asleep  ourselves,  driven  all  about  to  see 
the  same  peaceful  views,  beautiful  but 
monotonous;  miles  and  miles  of  orange 
orchards,  masses  of  flowers  and  eternal 
sunshine ;  and  as  I  came  in  from  such 
an  excursion  I  said  (confidentially,  of 
course,  to  another  invalid) :  "  This  is  a 
good  place  to  be  in,  a  poor  place  to  do 
in.  There  is  nothing  going  on,  never  the 
least  ripple  of  excitement ;  nothing  ever 
happens  to  stir  the  blood  or  make  one 


$it  or  fttiso.  39 

think  ;  it's  just  one  perpetual  calm — a 
dead  calm — and  I  do  not  want  a  person 
or  a  place  to  be  so  invariably  placid." 

There  was  a  little  hop,  but  less  hope,  in 
the  parlors  that  evening.  What  could  a 
dozen  pretty  girls  hope  for,  with  only  a 
few  beardless  boys  to  dance  with,  and  a 
languid,  blast  lieutenant  who  took  them 
out  on  the  floor  as  a  philanthropic  duty  ? 
I  went  up  to  bed,  moralized  a  little  about 
growing  old  gracefully,  not  remaining 
down-stairs  as  one  of  the  juvenile  an 
tiques,  and  at  last  took  up  a  tract  on  the- 
osophy  given  me  that  morning  by  a  full- 
fledged  positive  convert,  who  never  had 
been  on  solid  ground  before  in  matters 
of  religion  and  faith.  I  could  not  under 
stand  much  of  it.  There's  a  lot  of  rub 
bish  and  rot  about  a  good  many  theories. 
When  writers  lack  clear  ideas  themselves 
they  always  confuse  the  readers  with  big, 
incomprehensible  terms  and  technicalities 
that  mean  nothing  when  sifted  down  to 
hard  pan.  It  is  so  in  metaphysics,  relig 
ion,  and  literature,  in  my  modest  opinion. 

I  had  just  reached  the  chapter  on  "  Kar 
ma,"  the  unerring  swing  of  the  great 


40    Qlbanboning  on  ^boptcfc  .farm. 


moral  pendulum  started  by  God  himself, 
that  never  fails  to  strike  the  guilty  one 
with  just  the  fair  degree  of  force,  or,  as  I 
once  heard  a  plain  woman  define  the  same 
fact,  "We  all  on  us  gits  our  come-up- 
ance!  " 

I  was  dozing  off,  when  all  at  once  my 
bed  swayed  as  if  it  were  on  shipboard  in 
an  equinoctial.  What  was  it  ?  Music 
ceased  ;  feet  changed  from  a  gallop  to  a 
run.  There  were  shrieks  and  sobs  and 
loud  cries. 

Surely  my  time  had  come. 

Was  it  Karma  ? 

I  wished  it  had  been  ! 

Tumbling  some  way  from  my  couch  in 
a  seasick  condition,  I  crawled  on  hands 
and  knees  to  the  closet — the  very  worst 
place  to  be  in.  One  should  stand  in  a 
doorway.  But  we  are  not  mostly  Sam 
sons,  and  the  house  shakes  us,  instead  of 
our  "bringing  down  the  house." 

I  didn't  know  that  then  ;  I  didn't  know 
much  of  anything.  At  last,  getting  on 
some  sort  of  covering,  I  crawled  down  the 
stairs  to  see  strong  men  sick  from  fear. 

Yes,  it  was  a  quake — a  tremor  of  one 


4§it  or  iftiss.  41 

minute  and  twenty  seconds'  duration ; 
and  I  didn't  like  it  any  more  than  I  was 
pleased  with  the  catastrophe  in  my  cellar. 
My  unpropitious  advent  into  the  realm  of 
theosophic  cloudland  did  not  put  me  on 
"  solid  ground,"  and  I  have  never  dabbled 
with  it  since. 

As  the  unregenerate  old  woman  said  to 
a  clerical  friend  of  mine  when  he  urged 
her  to  give  at  least  the  last  days  of  her 
life  to  the  Lord:  "Well,"  said  she,  "I've 
no  doubt  religion  is  a  good  thing,  but  I've 
got  along  so  far  now  I  guess  I  won't  put 
ter  with  it." 

My  Hindoo  friend  assured  me  that  he 
had  never  encountered  a  "  Mahatma  "  in 
the  mountains  nor  the  valleys,  and  that 
he  heard  more  of  theosophy  in  this  coun 
try  than  in  his  own  land. 

In  this  book  I  intend  to  be  utterly  nat 
ural  and  helter-skelter.  Please,  now,  un 
derstand  that  two  hours  are  elapsing. 

I've  just  come  in  from  shoveling  a  path 
through  the  drifted  snow  to  the  big  barn 
door. 


42    QVbonboning  an  ^.bopteb  .farm. 


Such  fun,  such  exercise,  I've  not  had 
for  years — something  like  the  old  New 
Hampshire  winters,  when  I  would  occa 
sionally  rise  at  dawn  and  steal  out  with 
my  sled  for  a  coast  down  "  River  Hill."  I 
labored  so  earnestly  that  I  threw  all  the 
snow  across  to  the  neat  path  which  had 
just  been  made  to  the  woodhouse,  so  did 
not  receive  quite  the  praise  I  had  looked 
for.  Then  Maxidar  I,  Rhadamanthus, 
Snapper,  and  I  plunged  through  the  un 
trodden  deeps  into  the  road  and  waded 
along  for  some  distance. 

It  was  grand  !  The  only  way  to  enjoy 
snow  is  not  to  fear  or  dislike  it,  but  rush 
out,  dash  about,  and  get  up  as  glorious  a 
glow  and  tingle  as  ever  one  feels  in  the 
briny  surf. 

I  believe  pneumonia,  la  grippe,  and  kin 
dred  horrors  are  caused  by  overheated 
rooms,  lack  of  fresh  air  and  exercise,  over 
loaded  stomachs,  and  an  artificial,  nerv 
ous,  hurried  way  of  living.  My  present 
manager  of  farm  affairs,  a  burly  Nova 
Scotian,  a  fine  model  of  vigorous  man 
hood,  tells  me  he  never  heard  of  these 
diseases  till  he  came  to  this  country.  His 


Ijit  or  ittisa.  43 

mother,  now  over  eighty,  and  the  mother 
of  eleven  children,  never  was  ill  in  her 
life.  He  has  often  seen  her  in  "sugar 
season "  working  hard  all  day  in  the 
woods,  soaked  to  the  skin,  and  then  turn 
in  to  sleep  on  boughs,  with  an  old  quilt 
over  her,  drying  her  clothes  by  the  wan 
ing  fire  of  the  open-mouthed  camp  as  she 
slept  soundly.  Outdoors,  M.  D.,  is  my 
physician. 

Do  try  my  doctor  !  No  nauseous  doses, 
no  dangerous  drugs,  no  big  bills  for  small 
pills,  infinitesimal  triturations  of  highest 
power.  Nothing  to  do  but  to  go  out 
doors  and  stay  out,  taking  as  much  exer 
cise  as  your  strength  will  allow,  and  call 
every  day  on  the  cows  and  horses,  pet 
them,  feed  them,  get  interested  in  them, 
and  soon  you  will  be  well. 

I  could  cite  more  wonderful  cures  from 
this  simple  prescription  than  you  see 
boasted  of  in  every  paper  in  the  land. 
I  know  a  young  man  who,  threatened  with 
sudden  and  inherited  consumption,  was  ad 
vised  to  give  up  all  study,  go  to  Morris- 
town,  N.  J.,  buy  a  horse,  groom  it,  feed 
it,  ride  it,  and  keep  outdoors.  Two  years 
4 


44    Qlbanboning  an  Qlboptcd  .farm. 

after  he  took  a  prize  for  a  standing  high 
jump  in  college  athletics,  and  stood  high  in 
his  class  as  a  student.  One  great  secret  of 
the  frequent  cures  in  California  is  the  un 
conscious  patronizing  of  Outdoors,  M.  D. 
Half  the  middle-aged  people  of  our  coun 
try  are  slowly  committing  suicide  from 
either  too  much  or  too  little  work,  eating 
too  much  and  exercising  too  little.  I  am 
often  unpleasantly  reminded  of  the  aged, 
short-breathed,  over-corpulent  pet  pug,  as 
I  meet  these  indolent,  overfed  men  and 
women,  who  can  not  go  up  two  flights  of 
stairs  without  painful  panting  for  lack  of 
breath,  to  whom  running  would  be  an  im 
possibility. 

If  you  can  not  bring  yourself  to  care  for 
animals,  the  next  best  thing  is  to  study  Na 
ture.  We  know  some  charming  authors 
who  go  to  her  school  every  day.  One 
great  source  of  health  and  freshness  for 
Wordsworth  was  the  out-of-door  life  led 
by  that  poet. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  your  master's 
study,"  said  a  reverent  visitor.  "  Is  this 
it  ?  "  pointing  to  the  loaded  book  shelves. 
"  No,  sir,"  said  the  servant,  "  this  is  my 


4)it  or  illiss.  45 

master's  library  ;  his  study  is  out  of  doors." 
And  Thoreau  and  Burroughs  and  Jeffries 
and  Abbott  and  Olive  Thome  Miller  and 
Ellwanger  have  shown  us  how  much  one 
can  see  close  at  home  by  careful  obser 
vation.  Ruskin  greatly  exalts  this  habit, 
saying  :  "  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more 
I  find  this  conclusion  impressed  upon  me, 
that  the  greatest  thing  a  human  soul  ever 
does  in  this  world  is  to  see  something  and 
tell  what  it  saw  in  a  plain  way.  Hundreds 
of  people  can  talk  for  one  who  can  think, 
but  thousands  can  think  for  one  who  can 
see." 

Yes,  say  with  Macbeth  : 

Throw  physic  to  the  dogs  ;  I'll  none  of  it. 

I  literally  cure  my  dogs  with  the  popu 
lar  patent  medicines.  "  Snapper,"  threat 
ened  with  red  mange  from  high  living  and 
too  many  lumps  of  sugar,  was  restored  to 
health  by  sulphur  and  sarsaparilla.  Maxi- 
dar,  ditto.  Ebenezer,  a  handsome  double- 
pawed  cat  (named  for  my  great-grand 
father,  and,  like  him,  a  good  fighter),  was 
undoubtedly  saved  from  an  untimely  death 
by  Castoria.  I  notice  that  hens  are  now 


46  Qtbanbotting  an  Qlboptcb  farm. 

treated  with  homoeopathic  remedies.  One 
unlucky  hen  woman  queries  thus  in  The 
Poultry  Journal :  "  Will  you  please  tell  me 
what  is  the  trouble  with  my  little  chicks  ? 
They  can  not  use  their  legs."  Answer: 
"  Give  calcarea  silicata  6  in  drinking  wa 
ter."  What  a  magic  and  universal  power 
there  is  in  advertising ! 

The  last  person  in  the  world  to  be  in 
fluenced  by  such  blazing  self-praise  con 
fessed  to  me  that  when  friends  constant 
ly  remarked  on  her  pallor,  she  thought 
for  one  moment  in  a  strange,  wild,  last- 
hope  sort  of  way  of  "Pink  Pills  for  Pale 
People,"  promising  preservation  of  pe 
rennial  pulchritude.  We  are  none  of  us 
invulnerable,  but  I  believe  "Outdoor, 
M.  D.,"  to  be  the  best  physician  of  them 
all! 

How  I  am  rattling  on  !  But  why  aspire 
to  formal  elegance  of  diction  ?  My  best 
friends  say  :  "  O  Kate,  if  you  would  only 
let  yourself  out,  and  write  as  you  talk,  you 
would  make  a  hit.  Just  dash  along  and 
be  natural,  forgetting  your  audience."  It 
is  true  that  the  nib  of  a  steel  pen  is  apt  to 
stiffen  my  thought-flow,  but  this  chapter 


4Fit  or  itti0s.  47 

is,  as  the  title  indicates,  just  as  I  talk. 
Like  Rousseau's  receipt  for  a  love  letter  : 
"  Begin  without  knowing  what  you  are  go 
ing  to  say,  and  leave  off  without  knowing 
what  you  have  said." 


CHAPTER    III. 

BYGONES. 

Why  can  not  some  web  be  woven  fit  for  lifelong 
wear,  so  that  memory  may  be  allowed  to  crystallize 
about  it,  and  then  the  mantles  of  those  we  have 
loved  could  literally  fall  upon  us  ? 

E.  H.  ROLLINS. 

WHAT  sharp  contrasts  occur  in  the 
simplest  life  !  Day  before  yesterday,  at 
the  Authors'  Reading,  listening  with  rev 
erence  and  delight  to  Mrs.  Howe,  Mr. 
Higginson,  and  a  brilliant  circle  of  celeb 
rities  ;  to-day  plowing  through  two  feet 
of  snow,  with  only  dogs  for  companions. 
This  alternation  of  urban  privileges  and 
rural  delights  makes  a  perfect  combina 
tion. 

In  my  young  days  Boston  to  me  meant 
all  that  was  best  in  life.  College  profess 
ors  in  a  fresh-water  college  had  but  star 
vation  salaries.  How  did  they  manage 
to  live  comfortably  on  fifteen  hundred 
(48) 


Cngones.  49 

dollars  a  year,  entertaining  willingly  and 
generously  the  anxious  parent  of  wild 
students,  ministers  who  exchanged,  agents 
for  various  societies,  commencement  ora 
tors,  stray  missionaries,  give  class  parties, 
supply  themselves  with  needed  books,  edu 
cate  their  families  ?  One  of  the  trustees 
had  but  three  hundred  dollars  per  year  as 
a  pastor  ;  yet  he  lived  well,  kept  horse 
and  cow,  and  educated  three  children. 
Of  course,  they  could  not  afford  to  travel 
much. 

I  remember  one  professor  saying  of  an 
associate  instructor:  "John  needs  to  trav 
el  to  rub  off  sharp  corners  and  broaden 
his  views.  If  he  could  only  get  to  White 
River  Junction,  or  possibly  as  far  as  Thet- 
ford,  it  would  be  an  immense  advantage." 
But  those  same  professors,  overworked, 
underpaid,  restricted  by  narrow  incomes 
and  narrower  codes  of  life,  were  scholars 
and  heroes,  and  knew  how  to  make  men 
out  of  the  rough,  gawky  material  sent 
from  the  even  poorer  families  in  New 
Hampshire  and  Vermont. 

It  has  been  the  poor  boys  that  have 
been  heard  from.  Dartmouth  does  not 


50    Qlbanboning  an  Qlbopteb  .farm. 

send  forth  rationalistic  dudes  or  profes 
sional  sluggers,  with  a  special  bow  and 
gait  and  big  canes  and  swelled  heads,  but 
men,  to  do  grand  work  in  the  world. 

I  never  go  anywhere,  no  matter  how  far 
away,  that  I  do  not  find,  among  the  fore 
most  citizens,  Dartmouth  graduates  to  be 
proud  of.  "  It  is  a  small  college,  but  there 
are  those  who  love  it." 

Time's  whirligig  brings  wondrous 
changes  and  improvements.  Students 
were  forbidden  to  play  cards,  so  the  en 
joyable  games  of  whist  or  euchre  or 
cribbage  were  also  forbidden  in  the  homes 
of  the  faculty.  But  the  boys  played  all 
the  same  on  the  sly.  Once  the  inspector, 
with  another  teacher,  entered  a  room  sud 
denly  where  a  quiet  game  was  progress 
ing.  Lights  went  out  as  suddenly  as  the 
door  had  opened;  there  was  a  shuffling 
and  a  scuffling,  and  all  was  still.  The 
culprits  were  dragged  forth  from  various 
retreats.  A  negro  had  hidden  under  the 
bed.  "  He  need  not  have  done  that,"  said 
the  witty  Greek  professor ;  "  he  had  only 
to  keep  dark  !  " 

We  girls  were  not  allowed  to  learn  to 


ones.  51 


dance.  Even  the  simplest  square  dance 
was  out  of  the  question.  But  the  boys 
danced  by  themselves,  with  handkerchiefs 
on  their  arms  to  designate  fair  partners, 
and  once  in  a  while  drove  down  to  the 
"June"  to  indulge  in  rowdy  Terpsicho- 
rean  exertions  with  a  doubtful  set  of 
partners. 

The  theater  was  almost  the  gate  of 
hell 

I  remember  a  question  solemnly  pro 
pounded  to  my  class  in  Sunday  school 
by  a  professor,  afterward  a  member  of 
Congress : 

"Can  a  Unitarian  possibly  be  saved?" 
We  were  to  think  over  it  conscientiously 
and  carefully  during  the  week. 

Billiards  was  only  played  secretly  and 
in  fear  of  discovery,  in  back  rooms  smell 
ing  of  cheap  drinks. 

A  courageous  woman  who  cooked  in 
the  house  next  to  ours  let  her  pretty 
daughter,  Frances,  go  to  a  dancing-school. 
"  For,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  want  to  bring 
her  up  in  a  superstitious  tragedy."  Peo 
ple  laughed  at  her  remark,  but  I  think  she 
had  the  right  of  it.  Now  I  open  the 


52    Qtbanboning  an  QVbopteb  farm. 

Dartmouth  and  read  of  private  theatri 
cals,  dancing  and  card  parties.  Com 
mencement  balls  are  matronized  by  pro 
fessors'  wives.  The  professors  themselves 
play  lawn  tennis  and  whist,  and  I  believe 
the  average  of  morality  is  higher  than 
when  all  amusement  was  suppressed,  and 
considered  wicked. 

My  life  was  pretty  tame ;  entertaining 
returned  missionaries  was  not  to  my  taste. 
The  especial  Western  brother  that  I  recall 
with  detestation  was  a  home  missionary 
from  Oregon,  who  had  come  back  for 
funds  and  a  second  wife  to  assist  him  in 
his  arduous  labors. 

He  came  to  spend  one  night,  but  re 
mained  four  days. 

Of  course  our  one  servant  had  been 
called  to  nurse  a  sick  brother,  and  1  had 
to  rattle  round  in  her  place.  What  an 
appetite  that  man  was  blessed  with,  and 
how  interminably  he  did  talk  and  talk, 
keeping  all  at  table  when  I  longed  to  be 
clearing  up  and  get  outdoors  !  The  day 
he  did  go  he  gave  us  a  drive.  I  sat  by 
him,  and  these  were  his  pleasing  remarks  : 

"You  have  one  sister,  I  believe?" 


Bygones.  53 

"  Yes." 

"  She  is  happily  married,  I  hear." 

"Yes." 

"  She,  I  am  told,  is  very  good-looking — 
quite  a  beauty  !  " 

"  Yes,"  again. 

"  They  say  she  hasn't  got  red  hair." 

Once  in  a  great  while,  when  fairly 
starved  for  a  little  uplift  and  recreation, 
I  was  allowed  to  go  down  to  Boston  for 
a  few  days  to  see  famous  pictures  there 
on  exhibition,  hear  an  organ  concert,  go 
to  the  theater,  hear  Dickens  read,  see 
Charlotte  Cushman  or  Booth,  do  a  very 
little  shopping,  stare  like  a  hungry  child 
on  Christmas  eve  at  shop  windows,  browse 
in  bookstores  and  the  Public  Library,  and 
— best  and  most  prized  of  all  pleasure — see 
dear  Mr.  Fields  for  a  few  moments.  He 
would  greet  me  so  cordially,  tell  me  a 
story,  give  me  some  new  books  to  notice, 
and  I  would  go  home  with  enough  joy  to 
live  on  for  three  months. 

I  have  never  felt  that  enough  has  been 
said  about  Mr.  Fields  as  a  generous  help 
er  of  young  people  and  young  authors 
and  struggling  teachers  and  poverty- 


54    Qlbanboning  an  QVboptcb  .farm. 

struck  colleges.  It  was  a  constant  and 
cheerful  habit  with  him  to  give,  give, 
give  to  all  who  needed  his  assistance — a 
lecture  here,  an  encouraging  letter  there, 
a  reassuring  hand-grasp,  a  greeting  smile 
of  welcome. 

De  Quincey's  widely  scattered  essays 
were  hunted  up  and  collected  by  his  lov 
ing  hand.  He  made  Dickens  and  Thack 
eray  feel  at  home  in  Boston.  His  lectures, 
given  freely  to  classes  of  students,  did 
incalculable  good  ;  his  own  essays  are 
delightful  reading  ;  his  verses  are  grace 
ful  and  genuine.  As  a  friend  he  will  ever 
stand  pre-eminent.  I  revere  and  bless 
his  memory.  If  it  was  a  treat  to  a  cal 
low  scribbler  to  see  Mr.  Fields  in  his 
sanctum  or  in  his  ideal  home,  it  was  even 
more  to  be  allowed  to  have  him  as  an 
honored  guest  for  several  days  and  sev 
eral  times  in  our  own  home  "  Under  the 
Elms." 

The  students  to  whom  he  gave  these 
lectures  fairly  adored  him.  On  the  mem 
orable  occasion  of  his  first  visit  to  us  I, 
for  the  only  time  in  my  life,  was  too  ex 
cited  and  delighted  to  think  of  food,  fas- 


Sfigoncs.  55 

cinated  by  the  charm  of  his  conversation. 
I  did  feel  the  pangs  of  hunger  after  omit 
ting  supper  and  breakfast,  and  had  to 
seek  in  the  pantry  for  a  cold  drumstick 
and  a  glass  of  milk  after  his  departure. 
Every  story  he  told  on  that  first  visit  is 
stamped  indelibly  on  my  mind.  I  have 
never  seen  them  in  print,  and  they  de- 
,serve  resurrection. 

He  said  :  "  We  decided  to  go  to  some 
quiet  spot  in  New  Hampshire.  I  needed 
rest.  I  desired  to  get  away  from  talk, 
from  authors  with  manuscripts  under  their 
arms,  from  the  Atlantic  Monthly  and  any 
one  who  could  say  anything  about  it. 
We  chose  Camptown  as  just  the  place, 
and  drove  up  to  a  very  pretty  cottage, 
with  the  neatest  surroundings,  and  in 
quired  for  board  and  room  for  two.  The 
woman  herself  opened  the  door  just  a 
little  way  and  looked  out.  '  Can't  you 
take  us  ?  We  would  like  to  stay  with 
you  a  week.'  'Guess  not.  I've  got  tired 
of  these  city  boarders.  They  want  every 
thing  for  nothing,  and  women  are  dread 
ful  fussy.'  But  at  length  she  relented, 
and  said  :  '  Well,  I  like  your  appearance 


56   QUmnftoning  an  QVboptcb  .farm. 

and  I'll  take  you  ;  but  you  must  do  your 
own  stretching,'  "  meaning,  as  was  after 
ward  discovered,  that  they  were  expected 
to  wait  upon  themselves  at  table. 

He  started  out  after  breakfast  the  first 
morning  for  a  long  tramp,  and  as  he  went 
out  of  the  yard  he  congratulated  him 
self  that  he  was  at  last  away  from  all  an 
noyance  incident  to  his  life  as  editor  of 
the  Atlantic  Monthly.  Probably  nobody 
here  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing.  And 
he  strode  on,  light-hearted  and  at  ease. 
As  he  descended  the  first  hill  he  saw  a 
curious  figure  hastening  down  the  oppo 
site  incline.  He  was  tall  and  shambly  in 
gait,  wore  a  beflowered  old  dressing-gown 
and  a  rusty  beaver,  and  as  he  approached 
he  began  this  salutation  : 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Fields  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Fields  who  is  editor  of  the  At 
lantic  Monthly  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  and  he  tried  to  get  on. 
But,  oh,  no  ! 

The  object  said:  "  Good  morning,  Mr. 
Fields.  I  have  come  thus  early,  intending 
to  call  and  see  if  you  would  not  provide 


Bngones.  57 

the  Atlantic  Monthly  for  one  year  gratis 
to  an  indigent  clergyman  ?  " 

On  his  return  from  the  walk  his  host 
congratulated  him.  "  You  are  quite  a 
pedestinarian,"  and  called  his  attention 
to  some  chairs  on  the  porch.  "  Do  you 
like  these  chairs  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  they  are  just  the  thing." 

"  Well,  I  think  myself  that  they  are 
pretty  good  for  piazzery  purposes." 

He  pretended  that  he  went  into  the 
drug  store  and  inquired  of  the  clerk,  who 
was  presumably  rather  simple-minded, 
"  What  do  you  consider  the  most  popular 
pill  now  ?  " 

But  said  clerk  was  not  so  artless  as  he 
looked,  and  he  replied  promptly :  "  Wall, 
I  have  an  uncle  who  has  traveled  a  lot — 
been  to  Europe,  Asia,  Indy,  and  Cali- 
forny ;  and  he  gives  the  preference  to 
Schenck's.  He  says  that  all  the  craowned 
heads  are  a-takin'  of  'em !  " 

He  told  me  of  a  chore  boy  adopted  in 
this  family  whose  name  was  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  Fogg,  who  was  more  lazy  than 
devout,  but  used  his  religion  as  a  cloak  to 
hide  his  sins  from  his  trusting  parents. 


58    Qlbanboning  an  Qlboptcb  farm. 


He  would  suggest,  on  a  hot  day  when 
weary  of  haying,  that  they  should  sing 
before  nooning,  "  Lord,  dismiss  us  with 
thy  blessing,"  and  go  home  to  meditate. 
When  the  good  woman  listened  at  his 
door  and  distinctly  heard  him  snoring  in 
stead  of  praying,  her  confidence  waned. 

His  stories  about  lecturing  were  ex 
cellent.  Several  of  Boston's  beacon  lights 
were  discussing  their  remunerations  for 
lectures  as  novitiates,  and  Dr.  Holmes 
capped  the  climax  by  saying  that  he  once 
lectured  for  five  dollars.  But  as  he  was 
coming  down  from  the  pulpit  a  deacon 
met  him,  and  said,  "  This  lecture  wasn't 
just  what  we  was  lookin'  for,  and  I  guess 
that  tew-fifty  will  be  abaout  right." 

How  quaint  his  tale  of  Whittier,  when 
he  spent  a  night  at  Amesbury  and  was 
just  sinking  into  his  first  sleep,  stealing 
in  at  night  to  tuck  up  his  feet  against  the 
cold,  as  his  mother  used  to  do  !  And  of 
the  Frenchman  who,  coming  to  Boston, 
went  out  to  Cambridge  to  call  on  Long 
fellow,  offering  as  his  reason  for  the 
visit,  "  Sare,  I  hear  you  ave  no  ruins  in 
dis  countree,  so  I  ave  come  to  see  you." 


59 


Mr.  Fields  never  hesitated  to  tell  a 
story  about  himself  ;  as  when  he  was 
going  out  to  his  seaside  home  at  Man 
chester,  Mass.,  and  overheard  two  men 
just  in  front,  talking  in  this  way: 

"  They  say  that  Fields  the  publisher's 
got  a  house  up  there  on  Thunderbolt 
Hill." 

"  Yes,  that's  his  house,  right  up  there." 

"  He's  a  lecturing  a  little  too,  now,  ain't 
he?" 

"  Yes,  he's  going  round  all  the  time." 

"  Well,  how  is  he,  anyway  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  ain't  Gough,  by  a  -  sight." 

And  the  man  who  didn't  seem  pleased 
by  his  personal  appearance  or  manner, 
who  presented  himself  with  the  usual 
bundle  of  manuscripts  at  his  office  door  : 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Is  this 
Mr.  Fields  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  am  Mr.  Fields." 

"  Mr.  James  T.  Fields?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  my  name." 

"  I  mean  a  member  of  the  firm  of  Tick- 
nor  &  Fields." 

"  I  am  that  person." 

"Well,  then,  I'd  like  to  see  Mr.  Ticknor." 
5 


60    Qlbanboning  an  ^.bopteb  farm. 


That's  all  I  can  spare  space  for  now  on 
that  delightful  theme. 

Mr.  Higginson  alluded  to  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Fields  which  procured  him  "  A  Morn 
ing  with  Tennyson,"  and  his  words 
brought  back  old  memories. 

I  can't  quite  go  back  to  quiltings,  spin 
ning  bees,  "  singing  meetings,"  and  spell 
ing  matches,  or  to  the  shoemakers  who 
went  from  house  to  house  with  bench  and 
lapstone,  making  a  supply  of  shoes  for  the 
whole  family,  nor  to  the  invaluable  tai- 
loress  who  carried  her  goose  and  press- 
board,  but  I  distinctly  do  recall  the  dress 
maker,  who  came  to  us  with  big  shears  (I 
can  still  feel  them  clipping  round  my 
neck)  and  brass  thimble  without  a  top, 
who  made  our  dresses  for  twenty-five 
cents  a  day;  and  considering  the  crea 
tions  evolved,  I  think  she  was  too  well 
paid.  Money  was  precious  and  scarce, 
but  I  knew  nothing  of  the  miserly  scrimp 
ing  and  meanness  that  are  often  allied  to 
close  economy.  I  was  told,  the  other  day, 
of  a  deacon's  wife  of  a  former  generation 
who  lay  awake  a  whole  night  praying 
that  her  husband  might  give  her  twenty- 


6l 


five  cents  to  pay  her  "quarterage"  for 
the  missionary  collection,  and  that  he 
might  give  it  willingly.  A  lady  born  in 
1801  says  : 

"  The  early  inculcation  of  saving  formed 
a  lifelong  habit,  and  was  sometimes  car 
ried  to  a  ridiculous  extent;  as  when  an 
aged  minister  stopped  on  the  steps  of  his 
church  of  a  Sunday  morning,  and,  point 
ing  with  his  cane,  said,  'There  is  a  pin  '; 
or  when  a  portly  gentleman,  walking  with 
a  lady,  stooped,  and  picking  up  an  old 
brass  button  placed  it  carefully  on  the 
top  of  a  post.  '  I  know  it  is  of  no  use,' 
he  said,  '  but  I  could  not  pass  it  by.  Sav 
ing  has  been  my  habit  from  childhood.' 
There  was  no  waste  of  a  crumb  or  scrap 
that  could  help  feed  an  animal  or  be  made 
into  soap  or  paper.  Paper  was  used  with 
especial  care.  My  mother  would  as  soon 
have  taken  her  handkerchief  as  a  paper 
to  kindle  a  fire.  When  the  fire  went  out, 
if  there  was  not  a  tinder-box  in  the  house 
a  flint  was  used  to  get  a  spark,  or  a  lan 
tern  was  taken  to  a  neighbor  to  have  the 
candle  lighted,  or  a  skillet  to  bring  home 
a  coal  of  fire." 


62    QUjcmbonittg  on  &bopteb  .farm. 


Nor  did  I  see  aught  but  the  rosy  side 
of  farm  life  in  my  girlhood.  The  farmers 
who  came  to  our  door  with  their  produce 
to  sell  were  our  friends  and  benefactors, 
well-to-do,  "forehanded,"  and  "good 
providers  "  for  their  own  families.  Two 
of  these  I  remember  with  real  affection. 
The  first  was  Uncle  Daniel  Farnum — tall, 
lank,  lean-favored,  with  a  twinkling  eye 
and  a  ready  smile.  He  called  potatoes 
"  short  sass  "  ;  carrots,  beets,  etc.,  "  long 
sass  " ;  and  spoke  of  steaks  and  chops  as 
"  low  meats  "  in  distinction  from  roasts. 
In  his  bounteous  hospitality  he  was  al 
ways  urging  us  to  "  come  over  "  in  sugar- 
ing-off  time,  cherry  time,  plum  time, 
hulled-corn  time,  beechnut  time,  molasses- 
candy  time,  etc. — a  calendar  of  goodies 
for  the  entire  year.  He  inclined  to  an 
alphabetical  arrangement  of  his  family, 
and  at  table  he  would  say  in  his  hearty 
way,  "  Hannah  A.,  pass  the  butter  ;  Noah 
B.,  run  down  cellar*and  draw  a  little  ci 
der  ;  Emma  C,  help  Kate  to  cottage 
cheese  made  to  hum ;  Polly  D.,  you  tend 
to  that  pie."  He  became  at  last  a  little 
crazed  by  the  Millerite  doctrine,  and,  pru- 


63 


dently  willing  his  property  to  his  wife,  he 
prepared  to  go  up.  Alcott  used  to  say, 
"  Each  one  may  decide  when  he  will  as 
cend,"  and  dear  Uncle  Daniel  had  that 
conviction  in  a  literal  fashion.  One  even 
ing  he  donned  his  white  robe  of  de 
parture  —  his  "  going-away  gown  "  —  and 
mounted  to  the  ridge-pole,  but  receiving 
no  supernal  summons  nor  assistance,  re 
turned  to  his  anxious  family  to  await 
orders. 

The  second  stand-by  was  white-haired, 
rosy-cheeked,  blue-eyed  Father  Newton, 
a  veritable  Cheeryble  brother,  who  .came 
twice  a  week  with  goodies,  and  whom  I 
often  visited.  Oh,  the  delights  of  taking 
tea  there,  and  the  sense  of  repletion  that 
followed!  Oh,  those  big  raised  biscuits, 
the  three  kinds  of  sauce,  four  or  five  va 
rieties  of  cake,  and  always  pie  in  astound 
ing  variety  !  —  and  why  not  pie  when  one 
can  get  such  pies  ?  Beecher  knew  what 
he  was  talking  about  when  he  said  :  "  Ap 
ple  pie  should  be  eaten  while  it  is  yet 
florescent,  white  or  creamy  yellow,  with 
the  merest  drip  of  candied  juice  along  the 
edges  ;  of  a  mild  and  modest  warmth  ;  the 


64   Qlbanbonituj  an  Qlbopteb  .farm. 


sugar  suggesting  jelly,  yet  not  jellied ;  the 
morsels  of  apple  neither  dissolved  nor  yet 
in  original  substance,  but  hanging,  as  it 
were,  in  a  trance  between  the  spirit  and 
the  flesh  of  applehood." 

And  Dr.  Holmes  says:  "There  is  a 
very  odd  prejudice  against  pie  as  an  arti 
cle  of  diet.  It  is  common  to  hear  every 
form  of  bodily  degeneracy  attributed  to 
this  particular  favorite  food.  I  see  no 
reason  or  sense  in  it.  Mr.  Emerson  be 
lieved  in  pie,  and  was  almost  indignant 
when  a  fellow-traveler  refused  the  slice 

he  offered  him.  '  Why,  Mr.  ,'  he 

said,  '  what  is  pie  made  for  ?  If  every 
Green  Mountain  boy  has  not  eaten  a 
thousand  times  his  weight  in  apple, 
pumpkin,  squash,  and  mince  pie,  call  me 
a  dumpling.  And  Colonel  Ethan  Allen 
was  one  of  them — Ethan  Allen,  who,  as 
they  used  to  say,  could  wrench  off  the 
head  of  a  wrought  nail  with  his  teeth." 

And  do  you  understand  me  when  I  al 
lude  to  a  "pan-dowdy"  and  a  "brown 
Betty"?  If  not,  I  condole  with  you.  I 
would  walk  ten  miles  to-night  to  get 
again  the  robust  welcome,  the  exuberant 


65 


happiness,  the  old  fashioned  sincerity,  not 
omitting  the  well-spread  table,  of  those 
old-time  visits.  It  has  been  the  lasting 
remembrance  of  such  delights  that  made 
me  aspire  to  a  farm  and  a  country  home; 
and  my  highest  ambition  socially  is  to 
make  my  dear  friends  as  happy  round  my 
table  as  I  used  to  be  when  a  guest  at 
"  Jericho." 


*v 

CHAPTER  IV. 

HELP  ! 
No  suitable  quotation  exists  for  this  theme. 

I  SAID  that  when  we  were  afflicted  with 
the  missionary  our  cook  had  gone  to  care 
for  a  sick  brother.  When  she  returned 
she  told  us  he  was  "dead  and  in  his 
grave,"  but  announced  it  in  such  a  jubi 
lant  mood  that  we  wondered.  "  It  was 
good  he  went  as  he  did ;  he  was  gittin' 
awful  helpless.  Fust  off  he  had  paralyssis, 
and  then  pewmony  set  in.  The  Masons 
come  and  took  care  of  him,  slick  as  ever 
you  see,  and  I  tell  you  they  buried  him 
right  up  to  the  handle."  The  display  and 
paraphernalia  of  the  Masonic  rites  had 
obliterated  her  natural  grief. 

She  it  was  who  came  out  and  stood  at 
the  front  gate  one  exquisite  summer  even 
ing  in  July.  So  peaceful,  so  dreamy,  so 
serene,  yet  I  could  discern  a  happy  un 
dertone  of  insect  language  and  soft  twit- 

(66) 


67 


tering  of  sleepy  birds,  and  I  said  :  "  How 
still  and  quiet  !  yet,  if  you  listen,  you  can 
hear  various  sounds." 

"  Yes,  mum,  there's  'most  allers  some 
thing  a-squeekin'  in  natur." 

She  left  us  to  marry  a  brother  Mason 
in  the  fall.  I  think  they  met  at  the  fu 
neral  ;  and  when  I  wrote  that  I  would  like 
to  know  how  she  was  getting  on,  and 
hoped  she  had  found  a  good  husband,  she 
replied,  "  I  got  a  pretty  good  husband,  I 
suppose,  as  men  run." 

I  could  quote  all  day  the  sayings  of  my 
various  assistants  in  my  early  home;  as 
the  very  grand  young  lady  who  came  to 
honor  us  with  her  presence  for  a  few 
weeks,  but  left  suddenly  with  the  expla 
nation  that  "  there  was  no  future  in  cook 
ing." 

But  it  is  on  my  sorrows  here  with  my 
hired  men  that  I  desire  to  dwell.  Several 
have  professed  such  devotion  to  me  that 
they  could  remain  forever  ;  but  in  each 
instance  cider  —  hard  old  cider  —  has  de 
prived  me  of  their  valuable  society.  My 
farm  has  proved  to  be  a  temporary  re 
treat  for  nonreformed  inebriates,  all  of 


68    Qlbanboning  an  Qlboptcb  .farm. 

whom  came  with  glorious  testimonials  of 
character  from  reliable  and  religious  peo 
ple,  none  of  which  alluded  to  the  fatal 
habit.  There  are  more  lies  told  in  these 
letters  of  recommendation — negative,  si 
lent  lies — than  in  the  advertisements  offer 
ing  a  house  or  horse  for  sale ;  and  that  is 
putting  it  strong. 

I  have  had  ample  opportunity  to  study 
intoxication  in  its  various  phases.  Mar 
tin  Dubois,  my  first,  used  to  get  red-faced 
and  audaciously  complimentary  after  he 
had  imbibed  too  freely. 

"You  are  a  most  beautiful  lady!"  he 
once  exclaimed  as  he  tottered  in  and  fell 
heavily  over  a  clothes-horse  and  back 
against  the  kitchen  door.  "You're  a  per 
fect  lady,  so  you  are  !  " 

He  was  an  extreme  egotist,  and  always 
desired  to  speak  of  himself,  his  sea  adven 
tures,  his  agricultural  success,  whoever 
my  guests  might  be.  Once  I  was  walking 
over  the  farm  with  two  distinguished  men, 
one  prominent  in  philanthropy,  the  other 
a  rabid  politician  of  opposite  views.  Both 
were  talking,  each  on  his  own  theme  ;  but 
Martin  would  attempt  to  drown  both 


69 


voices  by  tales  of  his  achievements  with 
my  oats  or  cabbages.  They  would  nod 
abstractedly  and  return  each  to  his  "  mou- 
ton."  At  last  Martin  insisted  on  display 
ing  his  withered  arm.  He  had  fallen 
from  a  masthead  and  injured  said  arm. 
It  was  useless  from  the  elbow,  unpleas 
antly  flabby.  It  would  turn  easily  every 
which  way,  and  really  was  his  pride.  He 
was  sternly  rebuked,  and  commanded 
never  to  do  so  again  ;  but  this  patho 
logical  spectacle  was  still  exhibited  in  a 
more  furtive  way  whenever  a  stray  guest 
could  be  momentarily  impaled. 

He  was  always  talking  about  burglars, 
and  men  he  caught  just  climbing  into  the 
dining-room  window,  and  tramps  he  rout 
ed  at  midnight  from  the  haymow,  and 
mysterious  characters  lounging  round  the 
depot,  until  I  got  so  nervous  and  scary 
that  life  was  a  burden. 

One  dark  night,  after  waiting  awake 
for  several  hours  to  hear  somebody,  I  did 
certainly  hear  a  step  down-stairs.  Prob 
ably  that  burglar  had  got  in  this  time. 
After  listening  in  that  breathless  way 
which  stands  one's  hair  straight  up  and 


70    Qtbanboning  an  ^.boptcb  farm. 


protrudes  the  eyes,  I  stole  stealthily  down 
and  just  escaped  death  at  the  hands  of 
my  protector  himself,  who,  armed  with  a 
big  club  like  a  policeman's  billy,  was  hid 
ing  behind  the  kitchen  door  ready  to 
swing  it  at  any  intruder.  I  just  shied 
past  him  and  ran  up  to  my  room,  decid 
ing  that  my  worst  foes  were  those  of  my 
own  household.  He  was  a  wild-looking 
Indiany  object  at  all  times,  suggesting  a 
cross  between  a  Canuck  and  an  Apache. 
But  when  he  went  out  on  rainy  days  to 
cut  rhubarb  for  the  innocuous  pie,  skulk 
ing  through  the  shrubbery,  an  old  red 
blanket  on  his  shoulders,  bareheaded,  and 
armed  with  a  huge  carving  knife,  I  was 
truly  in  terror  lest  he  might  be  seized 
with  a  sudden  frenzy  and  slay  us  all,  for 
he  did  have  such  bad  "spells"  of  tem 
per.  At  haying  time  he  got  so  ugly  that, 
inflamed  by  more  drink  than  usual,  he 
quarreled  without  reason  with  a  quiet 
hand  who  had  come  to  help,  and  jammed 
him  against  the  side  of  the  barn.  Hear 
ing  loud  altercation,  I  ran  out  and  joined 
in  the  fray  to  rescue  the  small-sized  man, 
who  was  not  overstrong,  from  old  wounds 


71 


in  the  war.  It  was  a  thrilling  occasion, 
my  first  and  last  free  fight.  I  could  not 
stand  it  to  have  a  man  killed  right  before 
my  eyes  —  a  man  working  for  me,  too. 
The  matter  had  been  so  hastily  arranged 
that  the  usual  preliminaries  were  omitted, 
such  as  the  calling  out  of  the  militia,  the 
skillful  working  up  of  popular  interest  by 
obtaining  one  kind  of  injunction  from  a 
lower  court,  to  be  counteracted  by  an 
other  kind  of  injunction  from  a  higher 
court.  There  was  not  even  a  referee,  no 
seconds,  no  bottle-holder  —  barring  one  of 
the  combatants  —  no  reporters,  no  audi 
ence,  not  even  a  vidience. 

I  had  to  assume  all  these  important 
functions,  and  at  once  ;  without,  more 
over,  the  usual  training  for  the  fist,  years 
of  constant  practice  with  the  mouth,  and 
appearance  as  a  star  in  any  theater.  I 
also  found  it  necessary  to  be  one  of  the 
principals  ;  in  fact,  the  principal  principal 
as  a  matter  of  principle. 

So,  dashing  in  as  they  clinched,  I  land 
ed  on  the  neck  of  my  hired  man(iac),  and, 
pulling  him  off,  gave  him  an  "  upper  cut," 
and  a  cut,  too,  "  on  the  bias,"  across  his 


'72    5\.banboning  an  ^boptcb  .farm. 


left  eye,  and  retired,  tired  but  triumphant, 
and  proud  of  my  muscle. 

The  martyrized  victim  declared,  with 
white  lips  and  trembling  tones,  that  he 
wasn't  at  all  alarmed ;  but  I  was,  and 
angry,  too  ;  and  when  he  went  off  to  con 
sult  a  constable  and  get  the  law  of  the 
"bloody  Indian,"  I  sincerely  hoped  my 
ferocious  Martin  would  be  sent  to  the 
lockup  for  a  night  at  least.  But  nothing 
ever  came  in  retribution,  and  my  friends 
implored  me  to  dismiss  him;  so  he  retired 
from  my  household  soon  after. 

Haying  is  a  terrible  ordeal.  There's 
real  poetry  about  emerald-tinted,  dewy 
grass,  and  the  wave  of  growing  grain,  and 
the  tall  and  blithely  nodding  oats,  and 
stalwart,  bronzed  haymakers,  and  merry, 
sun -kissed  maidens  in  broad -brimmed 
hats.  But  the  real  man  in  actual,  prosaic 
haying  time  is  like  a  woman  on  washing 
day — so  outrageously  and  unreasonably 
cross  and  irascible  that  the  very  dogs  dart 
outdoor  with  tails  between  their  legs. 

Then,  hayers  are  always  so  "  dry." 
They  bring,  of  course,  cider  by  the  gal 
lon,  but  continually  demand  lemonade 


73 


and  ice-water,  with  strong  hints  for  some 
thing  more  potent.  I  have  seen  harvest 
ing  done  in  the  West  with  twenty-eight 
horses  and  a  magnificent  apparatus,  with 
three  men  to  guide  the  machinery,  deliv 
ering  the  grain,  tied  up  in  strong  bags,  at 
each  corner  of  the  immense  field.  This 
is  grand;  but  country  haying  is  simply  a 
horror  ! 

My  second  superintendent,  when  mildly 
boozy,  was  funny  enough.  He  came  one 
evening  to  my  sitting-room  door  and 
knocked  in  a  way  that  meant  important 
and  pressing  business  and  immediate  ac 
tion.  I  looked  up  from  my  letter-writing 
a  little  annoyed  at  the  untimely  interrup 
tion. 

"  'Scuse  me,  miss,"  he  said,  doffing  his 
old  cap  with  a  Chesterfieldian  bow,  "but 
we've  got  to  settle  it  to-night." 

"  Settle  what,  Jerry  ?  " 

"  Why,  about  that  gosling  or  goose,  as 
she  or  he  has  grown  to  be.  It  won't  do, 
ma'am,  to  let  the  old  goose  do  any  more 
settin'.  I'll  bet  she's  a  hundred  now,  and 
that  the  gander's  her  own  brother.  It 
don't  amount  to  nothing.  Now,  for  the 


74   Qlbanfooninig  an  Qlbopleb  .farm. 

life  of  me  " — and  he  reeled  a  trifle,  but 
recovered  himself  with  dignity — "  I  can't 
decide  whether  the  only  gosling  we  got 
out  of  thirteen  eggs  and  two  months' 
steady  setting  (the  gander  taking  his  turn 
at  it  full  half  the  time)  is  a  he  or  a  she. 
Sometimes  I  think  she's  a  she,  and  then  I 
mistrust  she's  a  he;  and  again  I  believe 
it's  a  she,  after  all  is  said  and  done. 
Now  " — and  again  his  center  of  gravity 
seemed  as  uncertain  as  the  problem  pre 
sented — "  you  see  how  it  is ;  if  it  is  a  she, 
well,  then  we  had  better  get  a  he ;  and  if 
it  turns  out  a  he,  why,  we'll  have  to  buy 
a  she,  and  we've  got  to  settle  it  to-night." 

By  this  time  his  eye  glittered,  his  face 
was  flushed,  his  tones  loud.  I  told  him  I 
always  made  it  a  practice,  which  I  never 
broke  over,  to  sleep  before  settling  any 
serious  question,  and  I  must  do  so  now, 
even  in  this  crisis.  The  mind,  I  contin 
ued,  often  works  out  things  for  itself  in 
just  the  best  way.  "  You  go  to  bed  now, 
and  in  the  morning  we  shall  both  be  bet 
ter  able  to  decide." 

As  I  went  up-stairs  after  the  impressive 
interview,  the  old  clock  on  the  landing 


75 


struck  twelve,  and  the  matter  was  not 
settled. 

I  thought  of  a  story  I  read  long  ago, 
showing  how  much  could  be  expressed 
and  explained  by  the  use  of  one  pronoun. 
A  Lancashire  witness  was  explaining  a 
fight.  "  He'd  a  stick,  and  he'd  a  stick, 
and  he  hit  he,  and  he  he.  And  if  he  had 
hit  he  harder  than  he  hit  he  he'd  a  killed 
he,  and  not  he  he."  Who  can  help  adding 
he-he-he  !  in  a  laugh  ? 

When  Jerry  was  himself,  no  one  could 
be  more  civil,  kind,  and  satisfactory.  He 
was  so  tall,  well  made,  and  good-looking 
that  I  was  proud  of  him  as  a  coachman, 
and  have  always  missed  him. 

But  drink  changed  him  to  a  demon  ; 
then  he  grew  white  and  desperate.  And 
when  the  climax  came,  and  he  hurled  a 
hatchet  at  the  head  of  his  patient,  gentle, 
loving  wife,  making  a  dangerous  cut,  'and 
dashed  the  brimming  milk-pail  through 
the  kitchen  window,  I  felt  it  was  time  to 
part. 

But  parting  was  a  prolonged  agony. 
Five  miserable  days  were  devoted  to  ani 
mated  but  unavailing  efforts  to  induce 
6 


76   QUwnboning  an  QVbopteb  farm. 


him  to  sever  his  associations  with  Goose- 
ville.  Forbidden  the  house,  he  would 
stand  under  a  spreading  maple  across  the 
way,  looking  dangerously  sulky,  and  at 
night  would  steal  back  to  hold  pathetic 
interviews  with  his  patient  wife,  who  re 
plied  in  hoarse,  sobbing  whispers  from 
her  second-story  window,  all  of  which 
sounded  full  of  dire  possibilities  to  me, 
listening  in  that  intense  way  in  which  a 
thoroughly  frightened  woman  does  listen 
after  midnight,  and  no  moon.  He,  too, 
regarded  me  as  a  mother,  and  could  not 
go  away  without  a  last  interview.  I  spent 
most  of  the  time  with  kind  neighbors; 
went  away  on  the  fourth  day  for  a  five- 
mile  tramp,  only  to  see  Jerry  slouching 
-around  in  the  same  old  fashion  as  I  wea 
rily  turned  the  last  corner  for  home. 

To  add  to  my  unhappy  plight  during 
this  protracted  launching  of  poor  Jerry 
into  the  "  wide,  wide  world,"  two  friends 
came,  as  three  of  old  once  came,  to  com 
fort  and  advise.  But,  unlike  Eliphaz  the 
Temanite  and  Bildad  the  Shuhite,  they 
didn't  sit  down  for  seven  days  in  consid 
erate  silence,  but  began  to  speak  at  once. 


77 


One  said  :  "  I  don't  want  to  alarm  you,  but 
that  man  is  a  reckless  character  when  in 
toxicated,  and  it  isn't  safe  for  you  to  be 
here  nights  without  a  guard.  He  said, 
down  town,  that  you  would  live  to  regret 
turning  him  off.  What  you  need  is  a  con 
stable  here  every  night  till  he  goes  away. 
It  will  cost  a  good  deal,  but  he  might  set 
fire  to  the  barn,  or  get  into  the  house 
drunk  and  kill  somebody.  He  knows 
every  door  and  window  ;  you  couldn't 
keep  him  out."  The  companion  was  a 
constable  and  ready  to  be  engaged  at 
once,  but  that  I  did  not  then  know,  and  I 
probably  looked  pale  and  nervous.  Con 
stable,  next  loquiter  : 

"  There's  another  thing  you  ought  to 
do  right  away,  and  that  is,  to  get  a  bull 
dog  to  protect  your  premises.  It  would 
cost  something,  of  course,  but  my  friend 
here  has  got  just  the  animal  you  want. 
Why,  the  other  day  he  jumped  right 
through  a  window  after  a  bad-looking 
tramp.  Door  was  locked  and  family  away, 
and  he  was  bound  to  get  out  and  do  his 
duty." 

"  But   I  have  two  fine  watch-dogs,"  I 


78   Qlbanboning  an  Qlbojjtcb  .farm. 

said,  "  and  don't  want  to  buy  another,  and 
such  a  fierce  one  as  you  describe." 

"Yes,"  said  the  owner  of  the  dog,  "I 
know  that;  but  then,  you  see,  they  know 
Jerry  and  would  let  him  go  right  by,  and 
wag  their  tails  all  right,  if  he  was  a-breakin' 
in.  Well,  all  is,  I  don't  think  you're  safe  as 
'tis  now.  Jerry's  fearful  worked  up.  You 
can  have  the  dog  for  twenty-five  dollars 
— he's  worth  every  cent  of  it — and  then 
you'll  feel  easy.  Nobody  knows  what 
such  a  man  will  do  when  he's  drunk,  and 
mad  too." 

Unable  to  make  their  schemes  succeed 
— although  I  was  trembling  with  fear — 
they  left,  shaking  their  heads  solemnly 
and  prophesying  dire  tragedies.  The 
next  day  Jerry  did  depart  with  his  long- 
suffering  wife,  who  had  declared  that 
he  might  go  alone  and  look  out  for  him 
self. 

After  a  series  of  tearful  and  demon 
strative  good-bys,  she  decided  that  there 
couldn't  be  a  better  fellow  than  Jerry, 
"when  the  liquor  wasn't  in  him  to  pos 
sess  him,"  and  such  a  husband  was  better, 
after  all,  than  no  man  at  all.  As  the  train 


79 


disappeared,  I  sat  down  to  moralize  on 
the  curse  of  intemperance,  the  inexplica 
ble  devotion  of  a  much-abused  wife,  and 
the  horror  of  crocodile  sympathy. 


CHAPTER   V. 

WOMEN    AND    GEESE. 

Have  a  motto,  but  dare  not  give  it. 

"  No  Metcalf  on  map  !  " 

Apologies  are  again  in  order.  I  make 
them  gladly,  gleefully,  proudly,  since  such 
dense  ignorance  is  bliss,  procuring  me  a 
prize  package — a  most  complete  and  con 
scientiously  thorough  atlas  of  the  grand 
old  State  of  Massachusetts,  also  a  small 
pocket  map,  etc. 

No  Metcalf  on  any  map  ?  I  deserve  a 
dunce  cap  and  bells,  but  never  was  good 
in  "  jografy,"  and  had  no  State  atlas  to 
study. 

On  page  154  of  my  big  atlas  there  is 
"  Metcalf  Station  P.  O."  in  clear,  black 
letters,  and  "  Chicken  Brook  "  (how  for 
tuitously  appropriate  that  name  for  a  hen 
woman!).  My  brook  is  meandering  just 
like  life  over  the  page,  actually  a  tribu 
tary  of  the  Charles  River. 
(80) 


iDomen  anb  (Seeee.  81 

I  am  sure  that  with  the  aid  of  a  micro 
scope  I  could  actually  discern  the  flag 
staff,  and  my  biggest  henhouse,  or  "  Kate's 
Hen  Coop,"  as  "  On  Shares  "  calls  it. 

And  not  only  Metcalf,  but  every  town, 
post  office,  railroad  station,  hill,  pond, 
stream,  shore  name,  or  any  other  feature 
that  has  a  name,  no  matter  how  insignifi 
cant. 

Yes,  I  see  "  Crimpville,"  "  Peppercorn 
Hill,"  "  Lily  Pond,"  "  Magomiscock  Hill," 
etc.,  all  down.  I  looked  at  "  No.  Fox- 
borough  "  in  a  puzzled  way  (just  one 
instant).  I  knew  full  well  about  Fox- 
borough. 

How  few  people  will  admit  that  they 
have  made  a  mistake  or  are  in  the  wrong  ! 
In  fact,  I  can't  recollect  any  single  in 
stance,  bright  and  shining,  but  myself. 

I  like  to  admit  a  blunder  and  gain  so 
much  information  and  a  fifteen-dollar 
atlas,  with  pocket  map  thrown  in  !  I  am 
willing,  nay,  eager,  to  make  more  blun 
ders,  and  will  apologize  indefinitely  and 
continuously,  if  others  will  come  to  the 
fore  as  nobly,  as  generously. 

I  do  hereby  and  furthermore  acknowl- 


82    ^banboning  an  Qlbopteb  .farm. 


edge  that  we  women  are  most  ignorant, 
inconsequent,  illogical,  incoherent  imbe 
ciles — at  times.  I  determined  to  write  on 
that  theme — "  Women  as  Imbeciles  " — 
one  day  when  in  California  sojourning  at 
a  popular  "  Health  Retreat "  on  a  moun 
tain  top,  three  miles  from  anywhere. 

I  had  commenced  scribbling  one  Fri 
day  afternoon  and  had  related  one  absurd 
instance  in  rather  a  superior  and  far- 
above-all-such-nonsense  sort  of  fashion, 
when  the  dinner-bell  sounded.  Wishing  to 
be  wisely  careful,  I  took  up  my  valuable 
little  watch  lying  on  the  table,  put  it  into 
the  trunk  tray,  and  closed  the  lid.  At 
once  I  realized  that  on  the  watch  chain 
were  both  trunk  keys,  and  the  lock  was 
hopelessly  closed. 

I  said  'twas  "  of  a  Friday."  The  whole 
establishment  was  run  by  Second  Advent- 
ists,  who  kept  Saturday  most  scrupulous 
ly  for  their  Sabbath.  No  guests  were 
received  or  taken  down  to  depart.  No 
work  could  be  done.  Then  came  our 
Sunday  !  Had  to  wait  nearly  three  days 
before  a  locksmith  could  be  secured  and 
brought  up  the  rocky  road  to  my  relief. 


tDomen  anb  (Eeese.  83 


I  lost  interest  in  that  article,  and  it  re 
mains  unfinished,  but  the  materials  for 
such  an  essay  gain  upon  me.  I  inquired 
of  a  wretched  woman  almost  dead  from 
dropsy,  sojourning  at  the  same  retreat, 
what  she  thought  had  caused  the  disease. 
She  sighed  wearily,  and  replied :  "  I  be 
lieve  it  was  brought  upon  me  by  an  im 
mense  bustle  which  I  hired  a  neighbor  to 
make  for  me  when  bustles  were  consid 
ered  a  necessity  as  well  as  the  fashion. 
It  was  heavy  and  heating,  tiring  me  ter 
ribly,  and  when  at  last  I  took  it  off  my 
back  was  so  sensitive  I  caught  cold  there, 
so  my  doctor  says  " ;  and  this  poor  bloated 
victim  of  a  section  of  a  hair  mattress 
leaned  back  to  think  of  the  tapping — 
probably  the  last — on  the  morrow.  An 
other  patient,  a  most  interesting,  culti 
vated  woman,  literally  caught  her  death 
of  cold  by  sitting  for  two  hours  in  the 
aisle  of  a  damp  cathedral  directly  over 
a  cold-air  register  during  an  organ  re 
cital. 

"  And  why  didn't  you  move,  or  go  out  ? " 
I  inquired. 

"Oh,  the  aisles  were  crowded,  and  the 


84   ^.banboning  on  QVbopteb  .farm. 


music  was  heavenly,  and  I  thought  I 
shouldn't  mind  the  chill." 

Needless  suicide  for  two  apparently 
sensible  women.  We  say,  "  How  silly.! 
how  wicked  !  "  But  just  realize  that  almost 
all  our  sex  are  to-day  suffering  for  pock 
ets — nay,  worse  and  more  ridiculous,  for 
"  only  "  one  pocket  apiece — and  go  about 
with  handkerchiefs  stuck  in  belt  (usually 
missing  in  time  of  need)  and  with  port- 
monnaie  in  extended  hand,  as  if  in  char 
itable  consideration  for  the  passing  thief. 
We  need  not  aspire  to  the  masculine  lux 
ury  of  fourteen  pockets,  but  it  is  imbe 
cile  that  we  do  not  insist  on  having  one 
in  each  dress  and  in  a  convenient  locality. 

"Florence,  your  pocket  is  sticking  out 
of  the  placket,"  I  said  to  a  friend  as  she 
was  starting  on  a  shopping  expedition. 

"  Well,  for  mercy's  sake,  don't  touch  it ; 
it's  such  a  comfort  to  know  where  it  is !  " 

A  New  York  friend  wrote  in  this  way 
to  me  last  summer  : 

"  Dear  Kate,  I  go  to  Boston  to-morrow, 
and  would  like  to  see  you  and  your  unique 
home.  Do  you  care  enough  for  me  to 
meet  me  at  Boston  and  take  me  out  for  a 


tDo me n  anb  (B>eese.  85 


day  to  your  farm  ?  It  will  be  quite  a  test 
of  your  friendship,  nevertheless  I  shall 
look  for  you,  dear.  It  must  be  lovely  out 
there  now.  Till  we  meet,  devotedly  as 
ever." 

She  did  not  mention  hour  of  starting 
nor  intended  route,  nor  even  whether  she 
was  to  come  by  rail  or  boat.  This  was  a 
test,  but  I  managed  to  reach  her  by  tele 
gram  and  secure  a  little  definite  informa 
tion.  After  her  visit,  all  too  brief,  I  found 
she  had  left  her  umbrella  in  the  rack,  her 
sandals  at  the  door,  her  tooth-wash  on  the 
stand,  and  her  watch  in  the  upper  bureau 
drawer. 

I  can  see  that  Howells  is  true  to  nature 
when  he  makes  his  women  unreasoning, 
inconsequent,  and  often  silly,  but  still 
fascinating  and  lovable — pleasing  idiots  ! 
We  grumble  and  rebel  at  his  types,  but 
the  trouble  is  they  are  too  realistic,  too 
true  to  life.  Being  an  imbecile  myself,  I 
feel  more  at  ease  with  such.  I  once  met 
a  lady  who  remarked  with  supreme  self- 
gratulation,  "  I  never  made  a  mistake 
in  my  life."  That  statement,  in  itself  a 
gigantic  mistake,  prejudiced  me  unpleas- 


86    Qlbanboning  an  Qlfcoptcb  farm. 


antly.  I  don't  like  women  who  think 
themselves  perfect,  making  a  foible  of  om 
niscience,  as  Sydney  Smith  said  of  Arch 
bishop  Whewell ;  and,  in  spite  of  their  im 
becility,  I  prefer  to  stay  with  the  jolly 
majority,  if  they  are  geese. 

Apropos  of  geese,  I  visited  Hagen- 
beck's  show  the  other  day  and  saw  geese 
going  through  a  military  drill.  Must  be 
gin  teaching  mine  at  once.  It  will  take 
time,  but,  as  they  often  live  to  be  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years  old,  some  one  can 
carry  on  the  good  work  after  I  am  gone. 
I  believe  all  living  things  can  be  marvel- 
ously  trained  by  care  and  patience.  One 
of  my  friends  has  a  dozen  pet  frogs  which 
he  feeds  with  mice.  He  becomes  deeply 
interested  in  the  individual  characteristics 
of  his  batrachian  friends. 

Back  of  his  house  is  a  small  pond  full 
of  lily  pads,  grass-bordered,  with  a  grav 
el  path  about  it.  Red  goldfish  gleam  in 
the  water.  Here  and  there  a  turtle's 
.head  lies  still  on  the  surface.  But  the  in 
habitants  and  rulers  of  this  province  are 
the  dozen  or  more  bullfrogs  that  have 
lived  there  for  six  years  past,  and  whose 


toomcn  cm&  (Biesse.  87 


whole  bearing  indicates  that  they  own 
the  pond  and  know  they  do. 

They  are  simply  monstrous — great,  fat, 
unwieldy-looking  creatures,  but  whoever 
thinks  them  as  stupid  as  they  look  makes 
a  great  mistake.  Three  times  a  week,  at 
five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Mr.  Jewell 
feeds  them  their  favorite  article  of  diet — 
live  mice.  Promptly  by  five  o'clock  on 
those  afternoons  the  hungriest  are  up  on 
the  bank  waiting  for  him  to  come  to  his 
regular  seat  by  the  path.  When  he  rings 
a  bell  the  rest  of  them  come  swimming 
along  from  all  parts  of  the  pond  and 
climb  up  beside  the  vanguard ;  the  gold 
fish  that  also  hear-  the  call  come  swarm 
ing  up  to  the  shore,  for  they  are  to  be 
fed  too ;  and  the  blackbirds  and  robins, 
hearing  the  bell,  know  it  means  crackers 
for  the  fish,  and  that  if  they  themselves 
are  prompt  about  it  they  can  get  their 
share,  and  so  they  come  flying  to  the 
pond  too.  It  is  a  queer  sight — the  fish 
in  the  water,  the  birds  in  the  air,  and  the 
frogs  in  one  element  or  the  other  as  they 
prefer. 

Gilbert  White  made  much  of  a  tortoise, 


88   ^.banboning  an  ^bopteb  /arm. 


and  Lord  Erskine  at  one  time  kept  two 
leeches  as  favorites.  Being  used  when  he 
was  taken  dangerously  ill,  he  fancied  that 
they  saved  his  life.  Every  day  he  gave 
them  fresh  water,  and  felt  sure  that  both 
knew  him  and  were  appreciative  of  his 
attentions.  He  named  them  Home  and 
Cline,  after  two  celebrated  surgeons,  and 
he  affirmed  that  they  differed  decidedly 
in  disposition.  Robert  Herrick  had  a  pet 
pig  which  he  fed  daily  with  milk  from  a 
silver  tankard.  Harriet  Martineau  had 
the  same  odd  pet  which  she  had  washed 
and  scrubbed  daily.  When  too  ill  to  su 
perintend  the  operation,  she  would  listen 
at*  her  window  for  piggy's  squeals  when 
the  ablution  commenced.  Charles  Kings- 
ley  was  interested  in  all  animals,  and  ev 
ery  creature  living  (barring  the  spider) ; 
toads  and  sandwasps  were  protected  and 
cared  for,  and  he  even  rejoiced  in  a  favor 
ite  slow-worm,  which  his  parishioners  were 
especially  enjoined  not  to  kill. 

And  a  New  York  artist  has  a  cricket 
orchestra  in  her  studio,  living  in  a  Gothic 
cottage  of  glass  with  a  wire  roof,  and 
filled  with  ferns  and  grasses.  She  de- 


tDomen  onb  ®>eese.  89 


lights  in  their  shrill  reiterations,  to  her  the 
merriest  music,  and  says  they  are  always 
entertaining,  never  having  to  be  enter 
tained.* 

It  is  my  belief  that  all  animals,  birds, 
and  insects  know  much  more  than  we 
give  them  credit  for.  Dear  little  "  Snap 
per  "  has  learned  with  ease  and  rapidity 
ten  rather  uncommon  and  difficult  tricks, 
such  as  ringing  a  bell  when  he  wants  his 
dinner,  or  turning  a  tiny  barrel  organ 
which  plays  one  simple  phrase,  or  mount 
ing  a  chair  and  delivering  an  oration  with 
earnest  and  appropriate  gestures.  And 
when  Max  and  Rhad  fight  over  a  big 
bone  until  they  become  so  angry  with 
each  other  as  to  be  completely  absorbed, 
Snapper  rushes  in  and  slyly  carries  off 
the  cause  of  contention.  He  will  un 
doubtedly  be  a  lawyer  when  he  reaches 
our  degree  of  ratiocination.  My  geese 
certainly  do  reason.  Why,  yes,  I  quite 
forgot.  I  was  talking  of  women  as  geese, 
and  here  I  am  back  again.  "  Do  Wom- 

*  We  are  told  in  a  recent  charming  magazine  ar 
ticle  of  a  butterfly  as  an  all  too  transitory  pet. 


9°   Slbanboning  an  QVboptcb  .farm. 

en  reason?" — the  subject  for  a  recent 
"symposium."  Some  women  reason — 
logically,  consistently,  and  less  laborious 
ly  than  men.  I'm  proud  of  them;  and  in 
two  generations  more  that  question  will 
not  be  raised.  Colleges,  professional 
discipline,  and  the  tremendous  educa 
tional  influence  of  our  clubs  will  answer  for 
us.  But  just  now  I  do  wish  we  used  our 
reasoning  powers  a  little  more  in  matters 
of  dress,  traveling,  friendships,  and  in 
love,  religion,  politics,  and  philanthropies. 
Think  of  the  ordinary  woman  as  a  traveler ! 
It  takes  five  minutes  to  purchase  a  ticket, 
while  a  dozen  men  are  impatiently  waiting; 
then  she  takes  a  position  in  the  middle  of 
the  door  with  no  appreciable  motive,  com 
pletely  blocking  the  way  -for  hurrying 
passengers  on  either  side.  She  rushes  up 
the  steps  as  soon  as  the  train  stops  before 
any  one  has  time  to  get  out,  and  looks 
injured  and  vexed  when  pushed  back  by 
the  conductor.  And  so  on  to  the  journey's 
end.  If  in  traveling  I  could  be  as  wise  as 
a  goose,  and  quietly  follow  orders  plainly 
given,  I  should  be  spared  a  deal  of  men 
tal  agitation,  and  the  saving  of  voice  and 


tOomcn  drift  (Seese.  91 

temper  for  officials  would  be  incalcu 
lable. 

Women  are  forever  hiding  away  their 
diamonds,  and  only  after  putting  a  gang 
of  hopeful  Italians  to  digging  in  the  gar 
bage  and  ash  heaps  can  they  remember 
just  where  they  put  them.  How  many 
women  have  a  sense  of  locality,  know  the 
points  of  the  compass,  or  can  reason 
themselves  back  to  the  right  road  ?  An 
old  cat  would  do  far  better  with  mere  in 
stinct.  How  many  can  keep  their  temper 
in  a  discussion  and  not  make  it  a  personal 
matter  ? 

I  presume  every  woman  who  has  read 
this  chapter  is  vexed,  but  they  have  no 
"  reason  "  for  it,  as  I  could  write  volumes 
on  Women  as  Martyrs,  Heroines  (or  She- 
roines),  and  Angels,  and  no  one  minds  the 
cacklings  of  a  confessed  goose. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

UNPLEASANT     VISITORS. 

Avoid  giving  invitations  to  bores  ;  they  will  come 
without !  ELIZA  LESLIE. 

I  HAVE  just  returned  from  New  York 
city,  escaping  for  a  week  or  so  from  the 
constant  and  wearing  rush  of  exciting 
events  here,  to  the  calm  stagnation  of 
Gotham  and  the  Gerlach. 

I  was  tempted  there  by  the  poultry 
show,  and  by  a  laudable  ambition  to  en 
ter  Maxidar  I  among  the  smooth-coated 
Bernard  beauties  at  the  coming  dog  show. 
His  brother  took  a  first  prize  last  spring, 
and  I  sent  him  to  keep  up  the  family 
honor. 

Though  living  like  a  veritable  hermit, 

and  silent  as  a  sphinx,  yet  I  do  have 

But  I  must  illustrate  my  position  by  a 
story  which  my  grandmother  loved  to 
tell.  She  said  that  she  and  her  play 
mates  used  to  stop  once  in  a  while  at  a 
M 


Visitors.  93 


house  where  two  very  old  ladies  lived,  both 
rather  dilapidated,  just  to  hear  the  inva 
riable  response  made  to  their  kind  inquiry  : 

"  How  do,  Aunt  Polly,  this  morning  ?" 

"Wall,  I  ain't  a  bit  smart.  I  feel 
mighty  slim.  I  have  a  sight  of — a  sight 
of — I  can't  think  o'  the  name  on't,  but  I 
do  have  a  sight  of — of — of " 

Then  she  would  totter  to  the  back 
stairs,  and,  lifting  up  a  shrill,  quavering 
treble,  would  say  : 

"  Sally— sister  Sally!  (She's  dreadful 
deef!)  SALLY  !  SALLY  !  what  was  it  that 
your  husband  had  such  a  sight  of  during 
the  war  ?  " 

A  pause,  and  then,  in  feeble,  peevish 
tones,  we  heard  : 

"  Trouble,  sister — trouble." 

"  Oh,  that's  it.  Yes,  gals,  I  have  a 
sight  o'  trouble." 

So  do  I.  I  almost  feel  like  greeting 
you  in  the  words  of  another  truly  true 
old  woman  of  old  Gilmanton,  who,  when 
asked  how  she  did,  replied  dolefully  : 

"Wall,  I  dew  and  dew,  and  keep  a- 
dewin'  and  tryin'  to  dew  an'  can't  dew. 
An'  haouw  dew  yew  dew  ?  " 


94   ^banboning  an  Qtboptcb  farm. 

I  came  home  from  New  York  late  on 
Saturday  night,  weary  of  the  cackling  and 
crowing  of  the  hen  show,  but  pleased 
that  a  Massachusetts  man  had  taken  first 
prize  for  light  Brahmas. 

As  I  sat  down  by  a  ruddy  open  fire, 
with  the  dogs  crazy  with  joy  to  see  me 
back,  I  quoted  : 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  on  Saturday  night, 
When  I've  tried  all  the  week  to  be  good  ! " 

But  I  was  soon  disturbed  by  unusually 
thrilling  accounts  of  extraordinary  expe 
riences,  and  my  next  quotation  was  in 
prose : 

"  There's  nothing  so  certain  as  the  un 
expected." 

I  did  hope  for  a  serene  Sunday,  but 
just  after  breakfast  I  heard  loud  screams 
for  help  from  some  one  evidently  in  a 
highly  critical  position.  I  gathered  this  : 

"  Run  for  somebody  !  Quick  !  Quick  ! 
Quick  !  Bring  the  revolver  !  Load  it ! 
Hurry  !  " 

I  rushed  up  for  two  new  revolvers,  al 
ways  loaded  to  be  prepared  for  any  social 
emergency,  and  when  I  again  looked  out 
I  saw  my  man  dragging  rapidly  over  the 


Hnplea0ant  bisitors.  95 


snow  by  the  ring  of  the  trap  a — well,  the 
Cree  Indians  call  it  a  "seecawk,"  and 
learned  folks  dub  it  the  "  mephitis  chin- 
ga,"  but  to  me  it  was  just  a  pretty  little 
creature  with  pointed  nose,  bushy  tail, 
black  eyes,  now  so  wild  and  pleading. 
Do  you  understand  me  ? 

And  here  let  me  record  the  bravest  act 
I  ever  knew  of  a  woman.  My  courageous 
cook  seized  the  revolver,  went  out,  and, 
putting  three  bullets  into  the  animal's 
head,  dispatched  him  without  the  least 
annoyance  to  any  of  us.  I  used  to  put 
Hannah  Dustin  at  the  top  notch  for  fe 
male  heroism.  She  not  only  killed  sev 
eral  Indians,  but  returned  to  scalp  them. 
But  that  pales  into  insignificance  before 
this  unparalleled  instance  of  pluck  and 
clear  grit. 

He  had  been  wintering  with  us  greatly 
to  our  dismay.  We  fear  he  left  a  family 
on  our  hands.  Milton  undoubtedly  al 
luded  to  this  intruder  in  Samson  Agonistes. 

"  And  as  an  evening  dragon  came 
Assailant  on  the  perched  roosts 
And  nests  in  order  ranged 
Of  tame  villatic  fowl." 


96    &banboning  an  Qlboptcb  farm. 

Governor  Colby,  of  New  Hampshire, 
liked  to  tell  of  an  old  fellow,  a  great  brag, 
who  used  to  visit  the  grocery  store  and 
tell  amusing  yarns  to  a  gaping,  giggling 
audience  seated  on  barrels  and  squirting 
tobacco-juice  toward  the  red-hot  stove. 

"Well,  boys,"  he  said  one  night,  "I 
found  twenty-four  skunks  under  one  log 
yesterday,  and  it  wasn't  much  of  a  log  for 
skunks  neither." 

I  would  not  offend  my  readers  by  say 
ing  that  word  right  out,  but  Governor 
Colby  never  minced  matters.  Do  you  be 
lieve  me,  I  felt  sorry  for  the  creature  when 
I  saw  the  revolver  flash  in  the  sunlight 
and  heard  the  quick  report  once,  twice, 
thrice  ?  He  was  endeavoring  to  support 
himself  by  living  on  me.  But  he  didn't 
know  it  was  wrong. 

No,  I  shall  not  use  the  Saxon  name, 
but  leave  you  to  guess  what  I  mean,  as 
do  certain  advertisers  who  offer  large 
rewards  for  all  who  will  first  subscribe  for 
their  publication,  and  then  fill  in  the  right 
letters  for  a  puzzler  like  this  : 

«G--v-r  Cl-v-l--d!  " 

I  feel  strangely  poetical  this  blizzardy 


Unpleasant  bisitore.  97 


day.  My  capricious  Muse  seems  luring 
me  to  further  efforts.  Inspiration  is 
something  quite  outside  of  and  beyond 
ourselves.  I  do  not  write  ;  I  am  simply 
impelled. 

Ha!  she  is  at  my  elbow  and  guiding 
my  pen  ! — 

We  found  he  had  made  a  bunk 
Right  under  the  henhouse  floor  ; 

We  gave  him  of  meat  a  hunk, 
And  he  will  thieve  no  more. 

We  fear  he  ate  many  a  pullet, 

And  several  young  chickens  we  mourn  ; 

But  now  he  is  dead  from  a  bullet — 
He's  gone  to  the  far-away  bourn. 

Heroic  in  times  of  danger, 

I  confess  I'm  a  cowardly  flunk 
When  near  a  black-and-white  stranger, 

Which  in  whispers  we  call  a . 

When  I  see  a appearing, 

If  he  has  two  legs  or  four, 
I  don't  stop  to  meet  or  greet  him, 

But  discreetly  close  the  door. 

Then  comes  the  chorus,  and  a  grand 
walk-around  after  the  burial  with  disin 
fectants. 

CHORUS — "  It's  better  to  go  a  good  way  round 
Than  to  walk  or  talk  with  a ! " 


98   Qlbanboning  an  Qlbopteb  ,£arm. 

Dear  me  !  There's  a  knock  at  the  door  ! 
Who  can  call  in  such  weather  ?  Excuse 
me,  sweet  Muse,  and  I  will  report. 

It  was  a  peddler,  who  wanted,  nay,  in 
sisted  upon  selling  me  a  "dandy  sink- 
cleaner,  with  shovel  combined." 

No  doubt  it's  a  good  thing,  but  I  have 
so  many  of  these  combinations  and  novel 
ties.  I  purchased,  the  other  day,  a  clothes 
sprinkler  which  makes  the  Chinese  meth 
od  useless,  and  I  am  assured  that  it  can 
also  do  duty  as  a  funnel  by  taking  some 
thing  off,  a  strainer  by  putting  something 
on,  a  tea  ball  for  steeping  tea  for  one, 
and  I  think  he  said  it  could  be  altered  into 
a  fire-alarm,  a  drinking-cup,  a  dinner 
horn,  and — no,  it  couldn't  really  be  a  pair 
of  suspenders  ;  but  the  grand  final  trans 
formation  was  something  equally  improb 
able. 

I  have  a  set  of  jagged  knives  for 
smoothly  cutting  hot  bread,  although  I 
greatly  prefer  to  break  it;  the  nonmelt- 
ing  plate,  that  will  rest  peacefully  and 
unharmed  all  day  on  the  stove ;  "  es 
sences  "  that  smell  like  barbers'  cheap 
hair  oil,  and  will  never  be  used.  But  why 


Visitors.  99 


weary  you  ?  These  are  mild  afflictions 
compared  with  the  picture-man  ! 

Have  any  of  you  been  rasped  and  tor 
tured  by  his  visitations  ?  He  hails  from 
Philadelphia,  has  never  been  "  on  the 
road  "  before,  but  was  induced  by  his  em 
ployer,  and  a  high  salary,  to  show  the 
country  people  the  new  and  charming 
process  of  getting  a  perfect  crayon  pic 
ture  from  an  ordinary  photograph,  done 
in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  and 
at  a  minimum  of  expense.  He  was  a 
large,  aggressive  man,  with  a  swinging 
gait  and  a  strident  voice.  He  spotted  me 
on  the  porch  and  commenced  his  attack  : 

"  Madam,  I  am  here  to  show  to  you  a 
new  and  remarkable  invention,  by  which 
an  ordinary  photograph  can  be  taken  and 
in  ten  days  you  will  receive  by  mail  a  fine 
crayon  portrait,  done  by  hand,  a  most 
speaking  likeness.  Here  are  several 
dozen  specimens.  I  am  sure  you  will  be 
pleased." 

I  assured  him  I  wanted  nothing  of  the 
sort,  and  walked  into  the  house,  he  close 
ly  following. 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,  but  have  you  no 


ioo  QHbanboning  an  Qlboptcb  .farm. 


photograph  of  yourself  ?  We  should  be 
pleased  to  undertake  a  crayon  copy.  No 
charge  whatever  unless  perfect  satisfac 
tion  is  given." 

One  of  my  recent  horrors  lay  on  the 
table.  His  eagle  eye  glared,  his  relent 
less  fingers  clutched  it.  He  held  it  out 
at  arms'  length  and  thus  delivered  him 
self : 

"This  I  call  a  botch,  madam — an  abso 
lute  botch,  quite  unworthy  of  you  and 
of  the  artist  whose  name  it  bears.  He 
really  does  some  good  work.  Ah !  I  see 
there  is  another  !  There  !  this  has  a  little 
more  grace  of  outline,  a  little  more  sym 
metry  of  form.  This  could  be  reproduced, 
and  at  very  little  cost." 

"  But  I  do  not  wish  you  to  take  it  away. 
I  can  not  afford  to  have  it  enlarged,  and 
should  not  wish  one  if  I  could." 

"  I  am  sorry,  madam,  for  your  pov 
erty,"  and  he  took  out  a  fifty-cent  piece 
and  began  to  wipe  his  eyes. 

He  had  gone  too  far,  and  was  directed 
to  the  door.  When  he  was  really  out  of 
sight,  I  found  he  had  taken  the  photo  he 
preferred.  But  I  trust  it  was  an  over- 


Unpleasant  bisitors.  101 


sight,  and  that  I  shall  not  have  to  look 
upon  my  own  features  done  over  in  cheap 
crayon  ! 

We  all  know  the  persistent  book  agent. 
My  house  is  crammed  to  overflowing  with 
books  of  all  sizes  and  all  themes,  ancient 
and  most  modern.  I  will  not  pay  two 
dollars  per  month — or  is  it  per  week — for 
a  mammoth  illustrated  series  cf  pamphlets 
about  the  World's  Fair.  Nor  will  I  tol 
erate  a  woman,  however  worthy,  who 
will  come  in  and  squat  down  on  my  din 
ing-room  floor  and  exhibit  books  of  de 
votional  exercises  for  the  Sunset  of  Life, 
cook  books  for  middle  age,  and  at  last 
bring  out  picture  books  as  just  the  thing 
for  my  grandchildren  ! 

You  can't  shoot  these  creatures  ;  even 
a  trap  at  the  door  might  be  illegal.  All 
they  want  is  money — your  money;  they 
have  no  decency.  All  sympathy  with 
their  victims  is  obliterated. 

Each  season  has  its  own  special  hor 
rors,  but  in  summer  the  torture  rises  to 
its  climax.  No  matter  how  tired  I  am, 
or  how  busy  in  my  sanctum,  or  trying  to 
take  a  nap  before  the  arrival  of  guests, 


102  ^.banboning  an  ^boptcb  farm. 

these  dreaded  vampires  will  not  be  put 
off  or  sent  away ;  they  insist  on  a  purse- 
onal  interview.  From  June  to  August, 
through  "hoeing  and  haying,"  it  is  an 
appeal  to  buy  a  cultivator  or  a  mowing 
machine,  a  weed-breeder — no,  a  "  Breed- 
weeder  " — or,  in  a  general  way,  "  machin 
ery."  I  sent  word,  the  other  day,  that  I 
was  taking  a  bath  and  must  be  excused. 
But  the  aggravating  creature  seemed  glad 
to  hear  that  I  appreciated  the  necessities 
and  delights  of  cleanliness,  and  announced 
that  he  had  come  quite  a  distance  (on  a 
holiday,  too),  and  would  wait  for  me  to 
come  down.  Such  a  specimen  seldom 
rises  when  I  enter,  but  with  an  air  of  im 
mense  importance  begins  his  memorized 
harangue,  presenting  a  fully  illustrated 
catalogue. 

The  "  machinery  "  I  most  ardently  de 
sire  is  an  automatic  or  autokinetic  pro 
peller  for  all  agents — a  kicker  that  will 
hurl  them  half  a  mile. 

After  being  called  down  twice  in  one 
hot  day  to  say  I  did  not  want  to  buy  a 
mowing  machine,  I  expressed  myself  with 
straightforward  frankness  to  the  third 


Unpleasant     isitors.  103 

persecutor.  They  have  an  instinct  that 
divines  your  needs.  I  did  need  a  mower, 
but  could  not  buy  just  then,  and  I  said, 
with  impressive  dignity,  "When  I  want  a 
mowing  machine  I  shall  send  directly  to 
the  city."  "  But  we  agents  must  live," 
he  insisted ;  to  which  I  responded  with 
the  ancient  but  appropriate  retort,  "  I 
do  not  see  the  necessity  for  that !  "  He 
left  highly  indignant,  and  all  at  once  such 
a  fascinating  scheme  came  to  me  :  I  would 
consult  some  practical  chemist,  and  beg 
him  to  prepare  a  tanglefoot  agent  paper 
sure  to  snare  their  persistent  pestilential 
feet  as  they  approach  from  the  street; 
something  that,  like  a  coat  of  tar  and 
feathers,  would  be  vastly  unpleasant  but 
not  deadly.  O  what  bliss  to  watch  their 
prolonged  and  unavailing  efforts  to  tear 
themselves  away !  But  I  must  not  let 
them  catch  a  glimpse  of  "  the  lady  of  the 
house,"  or  in  their  desperate  contortions 
they  would  hold  up  in  one  hand,  still 
free,  a  pamphlet  setting  forth  the  merits 
of  a  "Buckeye,"  a  "Rocker  Washer,"  or 
a  "  Chicago  Dustpan,"  invented  by  a 
woman,  and  which  no  woman  with  any 


104  Qlbanboning  an  ^bopteb  .farm. 

pretense  to  good  housekeeping  should  be 
one  day  without ! 

When  there's  nothing  else  to  drive  me 
distracted  there  is  always  a  "tree  man." 
I  think  them  more  trying  than  any  other 
peripatetic  nuisance.  They  do  have  such 
"  staying  "  qualities  !  They  are  almost  as 
bad  as  delirium  tre — 

What !  Another  man  at  the  door  ?  This 
time  it's  a  "potato  man,"  with  "  Rupert's 
Perfection  "  as  his  special  subject  for  eulo 
gy.  I  buy  a  peck,  to  be  delivered  in  April. 
If  I  don't  have  to  go  to  the  poorhouse  or 
old  ladies'  home  before  September,  I  may 
enjoy  the  mealy,  snowflake  tubers. 

This  morning  it  was  a  "razor  man"; 
wanted  me  to  let  him  sharpen  all  I  had. 
Our  interview  was  briefer  than  I  had 
dared  to  hope.  He  saw  the  situation,  and 
left  without  any  cutting  sarcasm  or  keen- 
edged  witticism.  He  might  have  quoted 
Voltaire's  epigram  :  "  Ideas  are  like  beards : 
men  don't  get  them  until  they  grow  up. 
Women  never  have  any." 

Anything  in  life's  experience  told  right 
straight  out,  like  this  tale  of  woe,  seems 
unreal  to  those  who  have  not  been  simi- 


Unpleasant  Visitors.  105 


larly  imposed  upon.  I  have  suffered  so 
severely  that  the  following  exaggeration 
falls  short  of  the  actual  facts : 

Mr.  Jimsmith,  a  Chicago  lawyer,  re 
cently  moved  into  a  beautiful  suburban 
home.  He  is  highly  pleased  with  it  in  a 
general  way,  but  so  many  agents  call  upon 
him  that  he  finds  it  rather  a  bore.  The 
other  day  he  opened  the  door  to  twelve 
agents  before  the  afternoon  was  half  over, 
and  when  he  was  summoned  to  the  door 
for  the  thirteenth  time  he  was  mad  enough 
to  fight  a  herd  of  porcupines.  A  tall,  sad- 
eyed  man,  dressed  in  black,  confronted 
him  and  started  to  say  something,  but  Mr. 
Jimsmith  interrupted  him : 

"You  don't  need  to  tell  me  what  you 
have  to  sell,  because  I  don't  want  it.  I 
don't  need  a  burglar-proof  clock,  nor  a 
bootjack  that  has  a  music  box  in  it,  nor  a 
stemwinding  can-opener.  I  don't — 

"  My  dear  sir,  you  are  mis " 

"  Oh,  you  don't  need  to  '  dear  sir  '  me  ; 
it  won't  work  !  I  tell  you,  I  don't  want  a 
gate  that  may  be  taken  from  its  hinges  and 
used  as  a  folding  bed.  I  have  no  use  for 
a  combined  currycomb  and  mustache  cup. 


io6  Qlbanbonituj  an  Qlboptcb  farm. 

I  have  a  full  supply  of  furniture  polish, 
cough  medicine,  and  hair  restorer;  and, 
what's  more,  my  wife  doesn't  need  a  recipe 
for  preserving  codfish  or  frying  billiard 
balls." 

"Really,  sir,  this  is  a  most  extraordi 
nary " 

"  Oh,  of  course,  it's  extraordinary,  but 
I  don't  want  it.  I  suppose  it  can  be  used 
to  grate  horseradish  and  tune  the  piano, 
but  I  tell  you  I  don't  need  it.  Perhaps  it 
will  take  the  grease  spots  out  of  clothing, 
pare  apples,  and  chase  dogs  out  of  the 
yard,  but  you'll  have  to  go  somewhere 
else  to  sell  it.  I  am  surprised  that  a  man 
of  your  age  and  respectable  appearance 
should  go  around  trying  to  sell  pocket 
corn-shellers  when  the  whole  neighbor 
hood  is  full  of  wood  that  ought  to  be 
sawed.  What's  the  use  of  trying  to  sell 
a  man  a  fire-escape,  when  you  can  make  a 
dollar  a  day  baling  hay  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  an  agent." 

"  Then  what  are  you  ? " 

"  I'm  the  pastor  of  the  Orthodox  Breth 
ren  Church,  and  I  came  over  to  get  ac 
quainted,  not  knowing  that  you  were 


Unpleasant  tHsitors.  107 

running    a    private     madhouse.       Good- 
day."* 

Under  the  heading  of  this  growling 
chapter  might  be  included  some  of  my 
callers  who  come  determined  to  get  rid 
of  an  old  canopy  bedstead,  or  a  rocker 
one  hundred  years  old,  or  to  work  off 
some  aged  hens,  or  a  venerable  rooster, 
or  an  Afghan  or  crazy-quilt  that  has  been 
vainly  paraded  for  years  at  county  fairs 
and  shows. 

Each  one  insists  on  seeing  me  "on  a 
matter  of  business."  Each  declares  that 
he  or  she  "  needs  the  money,"  which  seems 
to  them  a  sufficient  reason  for  my  purchas 
ing  at  once.  Each  feels  personally  and 
eternally  aggrieved  by  my  utter  failure  to 
respond. 

I  have  been  so  perpetually  annoyed 
that  I  naturally  dread  to  see  strangers 
approaching  with  an  air  of  business,  fear 
ing  they  might  prove  to  be  constables, 

*  I  hear  that  agents  in  the  West  are  actively  rep 
resenting  an  "  Anti-Agent  Protective  Association," 
furnishing  for  one  dollar  a  brass  plate,  announcing 
a  full  supply  of  all  possible  wares.  Let  them  hasten 
their  approach  !  I'll  buy  them  out ! 


io8  Qlbanboning  on  QVbopteb  .farm. 


agents,  reporters,  or  curiosity  seekers  who 
had  heard  of  the  place.  After  many  pro 
voking  delays  I  was  just  starting  for  a 
drive  the  other  day,  when  I  noticed  the 
usual  stranger  hurrying  on.  "O  dear,"  I 
said  to  myself,  "  is  there  no  respite  from 
this  sort  of  thing?"  and,  putting  my 
head  out  of  the  carriage,  I  said  in  rather 
a  petulant  and  weary  tone,  "  Do  you  want 
to  see  me  ? "  The  young  man  stopped, 
smiled,  and  replied,  "  I  have  no  objec 
tion  to  looking  at  you,  Madam ,  but 

I  was  going  farther  on  !  " 


CHAPTER   VII. 

FACTS    ABOUT    FARMING. 

"  I'm  sick  and  tired  of  hoeing,  ditching, 
And  milking  cows  with  tails  a-switching 

In  face  and  eyes. 

There's  little  pay  and  lots  of  labor 
In  raising  corn  or  taters,  neighbor, 

And  fighting  flies. 

"  The  farm  and  necessary  fixtures 
To  me  are  not  such  pleasant  pictures — 

Scythe,  fork,  and  rake  ; 
To  tell  the  truth,  I  do  not  love  them, 
And,  soaring  far  to  realms  above  them, 

My  leave  would  take. 

"  '  Oh,  for  a  season  of  refreshing  ! 
Oh,  for  a  crop  that's  worth  the  threshing  ! ' 

The  farmers  pray. 
Until  one's  ready  for  his  coffin  ; 
Their  dying  words  we  hear  so  often  : 

'  Farming  don't  pay  ! '  " 

ONE  of   my   favorite  books    in   girlish 
days   was   Rural   Hours,  by   Miss    Susan 
Cooper,  a  daughter  of  Fenimore  Cooper. 
(109) 


no  QUjanboning  on  QVbopUb  .farm. 

It  is  a  journal  of  the  simple  scenes  of 
country  life  for  just  one  year;  delightful 
reading,  like  Gilbert  White's  Natural  His 
tory  of  Selborne.  His  genial  "  observa 
tions  in  various  parts  of  Nature"  are  still 
read  with  exquisite  delight.  He  was  a 
parish  priest,  and  employed  his  leisure 
time  in  studying  birds  and  flowers;  "a 
man,  the  power  of  whose  writings  has  im 
mortalized  an  obscure  village  and  a  tor 
toise — for  who  has  not  heard  of  '  Timo 
thy  '  ? — as  long  as  the  English  language 
lives." 

Miss  Cooper,  as  well,  wrote  about  what 
every  one  sees,  but  not  as  every  one  sees 
it.  She  records  modestly  her  "trifling  ob 
servations  on  rustic  matters,"  but  shows 
an  intense  love  of  Nature  and  a  poetical, 
womanly  way  of  studying  her  daily  mar 
vels.  I  have  been  looking  over  Rural 
Hours.  How  unruffled,  how  placidly  the 
gentle  stream  of  description  and  narra 
tion  runs  along ! — no  eddies,  no  noisy 
waterfalls,  no  overflow. 

She  began  her  diary  on  March  4,  1849 : 
"  Drove  several  miles  down  the  valley 
this  morning  in  the  teeth  of  a  sharp  wind 


.facts  about  .farming. 


and  flurries  of  snow,  but  after  facing  the 
cold  bravely  one  brings  home  a  sort  of 
virtuous  glow  which  is  not  to  be  picked 
up  by  cowering  over  the  fireside.  It  is 
with  this  as  with  more  important  matters 
— the  effort  brings  its  own  reward. 

"  The  8th. — Spring  in  the  air,  in  the 
light,  and  in  the  sky,  although  the  earth 
is  yet  unconscious  of  its  approach. 

"  yth. — The  frogs  were  heard  last  night 
for  the  first  time  this  season. 

"  April  i6th. — Fresh  grass  butter  from 
the  farm  to-day."  She  dilates  practically 
on  fresh  maple  sugar  for  seven  pages, 
and  ends  with  the  story  of  a  Scotch  stock 
ing  weaver  who  bought  a  farm  near  the 
lake  at  Cooperstown,  and  the  first  spring 
after  arrival  in  the  country  was  so  suc 
cessful  with  his  maple  trees  that  in  the 
midst  of  his  labors  he  came  into  the  vil 
lage  and  gave  large  orders  for  sap  buck 
ets,  pans,  furnaces,  etc.  People,  surprised 
at  his  extensive  preparations,  inquired 
about  this  grand  sugar  mill.  He  said 
that  as  yet  he  had  tapped  only  a  small 
number  of  trees,  but  he  intended  soon  to 
go  to  work  in  earnest  among  the  maples, 


ii2  Qtbanboning  on  Qlboptcb  farm. 

and  indeed  had  quite  made  up  his  mind. 
"  Canny  Scot "  as  he  was,  to  give  up 
farming  altogether  and  keep  to  sugar- 
making  all  the  year  round  ! 

Now  isn't  that  lovely  ?  She  announces 
the  coming  of  the  robins,  the  springing 
up  of  the  small  yellow  violets,  a  solitary 
goldfinch  on  the  lawn,  the  lights  and 
shadows  on  the  lake,  a  little  blue  butter 
fly  on  the  highway,  first  dish  of  green 
peas.  I  rejoice  to  find  an  illusion  which 
re-enforces  me  in  my  position. 

"  The  skunk  we  all  know  only  too  well. 
There  is  one  in  the  village  now  which 
has  taken  possession  of  one  of  the  hand 
somest  houses  in  the  place,  and  all  but 
drives  the  family  out  of  doors.  For 
several  months  it  has  kept  possession 
of  its  quarters  with  impunity,  our  friends 
being  actually  afraid  to  kill  it  lest  its 
death  should  be  worse  even  than  its 
life." 

But  did  nothing  ever  happen  in  these 
two  lives  ?  I  love  Nature  as  truly,  but 
am  not  allowed  much  time  to  get  better 
acquainted.  My  diary,  for  instance,  of 
last  week  runs  thus: 


facts  about  farming.          113 

Wednesday,  March  2ist.  —  Threatened 
with  summary  ejectment  in  midwinter. 

Thursday,  22d.  —  Stranger  called  with 
constable  to  complain  of  Maxidar  I,  who 
had  knocked  him  down  as  he  was  passing. 

Friday,  2jd. — My  man  started  out  to 
exercise  Dolly,  her  high-bred  spirited 
colt,  "Viva,"  and  the  dogs.  Too  compli 
cated  a  job.  Just  out  of  the  driveway  I 
saw  the  sleigh  overturned  and  the  driver 
dragged  for  some  rods,  holding  grimly  on 
to  the  reins.  Max  had  barked  too  loud. 
Viva  threw  up  her  pretty  heels  in  his  face. 
Dolly  shied  into  the  ditch.  An  exciting 
scene. 

Saturday,  24th. — Another  stranger  drove 
in  with  a  lady  in  sleigh,  asked  for  me,  and, 
without  giving  name  or  references,  said : 

"  I  want  to  borrow  two  hundred  dollars 
of  you  to-day ;  will  give  five  per  cent  a 
month  on  it.  I  need  it  at  once." 

I  assured  him  that  I  had  overdrawn  on 
the  bank  and  was  in  debt  myself,  and  saw 
no  reason  for  his  applying  to  me,  a  wom 
an  who  had  many  demands  upon  her 
small  income. 

"  I  presume  your  putting  up  that  mon- 


ii4  Sibanbonittg  an  OVbopteb  farm. 


strous  hen  house  made  you  feel  a  little 
pinched,"  he  persisted,  "but  two  hundred 
dollars  I  must  borrow  before  Tuesday, 
and  I  was  sent  to  you  as  the  likeliest  per 
son  to  get  it  from." 

He  left  a  sadder  and,  I  trust,  a  wiser 
man. 

Monday,  26th. — A  tramp,  almost  a  boy, 
called  for  a  meal.  He  said  he  was  "trou 
bled  with  swallerring,"  and  did  make  ex 
traordinary  sounds  and  grimaces  as  he 
emptied  the  plates.  But  as  he  was  from 
New  Hampshire  and  couldn't  get  work,  I 
stuffed  his  pockets  with  sandwiches,  nut, 
cakes,  and  cheese,  and  wished  him  better 
fortune. 

Yes,  I  must  adhere  to  facts,  in  spite  of 
her  peaceful  influence  and  gentle  jottings. 

Let  me  see : 

Yesterday  saw  first  henhawk  of  the 
season  hovering  over  my  white  Wyan- 
dottes.  Noticed  faint  yellow  light  on 
lakelet  at  midnight.  Was  it  a  Will-o'-the- 
wisp  ?  No,  I  rather  incline  to  the  theory 
of  young  hoodlums  from  "  Hog  Holler  " 
fishing  by  lantern  light  through  ice  holes 
for  my  imported  carp.  All  improvements 


about  .farming.          115 


on  the  farm  in  the  line  of  fruit,  fish,  fowl 
of  any  kind  is  only  unconscious  altruism. 

To-day  I'm  told  that  big  rats  have  in 
vaded  the  potato  bin.  "  Cozy  "  and  "  Eb- 
enezer  Castoria "  are  too  petted  and 
stuffed  to  be  of  the  least  service  at  this 
juncture.  A  dozen  doves  have  invaded 
the  barn  loft  and  will  ruin  my  hay.  Must 

utilize  in  a  stew.  Doves  are  a  hum 

"Come  in,  Mr.  Wood."  "Heavy  door 
just  dropped  through  scuttle  in  stable  and 
killed  our  shoat !  " 

It's  no  use !  Sentiment,  romance,  and 
pretty  poetic  moralizing  have  no  chance 
for  development  here. 

I  wonder  what  planet  influenced  my 
birth  !  Sirius  or  Saturn  ;  possibly  both. 
Still  it  is  not  always  gloomy. 

"  Behind  the  clouds  is  the  sun  still  shining." 

Tuesday,  2"fth,  has  a  brighter  record. 
Received  an  offer  from  a  farmer  in  Iowa. 
He  writes  : 

"  Madam :  I  read  your  article,  '  One 
Way  of  Co-operating,'  saw  your  portrait, 
and  now  I  write  you  proposing  that  we 
become  acquainted,  and  if  we  then  con- 


an 


elude  that  it  would  be  best  we  can  form 
a  co-operative  union.  I  am  a  single 
man  of  forty-eight,  and  am  six  feet  in 
height  ;  have  a  very  loving  heart  but  no 
wife;  our  girls  are  good,  but  are  married 
very  young.  This  leaves  me  in  the  cold, 
as  I  am  in  favor  of  men  and  women  being 
mature  before  they  marry.  I  wish  to  cor 
respond  with  you,  and  if",  after  we  know 
each  other,  we  find  that  we  do  not  har 
monize,  I  will  promise  to  return  your 
letters  and  you  can  return  mine,  and  no 
harm  will  result  to  either  of  us.  If  we 
find  that  it  would  be  best  to  have  a  per 
sonal  interview,  we  can  provide  for  that 
at  the  proper  time  and  place.  Please  de 
scribe  yourself  physically,  mentally,  and 
morally.  ...  I  served  in  the  army  dur 
ing  the  late  war,  was  wounded,  but  lost 
no  limbs.  Have  accumulated  some  prop 
erty.  I  believe  in  the  science  of  phre 
nology.  My  temperament  is  the  mental 
motive." 

I  copy  this  to  show  that,  although  soli 
tary,  it  is  still  a  matter  of  choice.  Two 
famous  "predictors  of  fate  wrote  out  my 
life  history  years  ago.  Each  said  I  should 


fads  about  forming.         117 

live  to  be  eighty-two — a  prophecy  which 
has  already  been  more  than  fulfilled. 
Each  said  that  I  should  marry  "  very  late 
in  life."  As  a  queer  old  man  said  when 
father  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  had  small 
pox,  "  No,  but  1  have  had  chances." 

Literary  old  maids  are  blessed  with  re 
markable  longevity.  If  any  slip  out  of 
the  ranks  they  are  apt  to  marry  men 
much  younger  than  themselves;  as  Miss 
Mulock,  Miss  Thackeray,  etc.  In  our 
own  country  the  same  law  holds  good, 
Margaret  Fuller  heading  the  list. 

Must  I  come  to  this — led  about  by 
some  boy  that  I  might  have  petted  in  his 
cradle  ?  O  Venus,  spare  me  !  O  Saturn, 
give  me  a  reprieve !  Never  mind  if  the 
dogcart  I  purchased  from  a  Cincinnati 
"  Cart  and  Buggy  Company "  (on  the 
strength  of  their  own  assertions)  did 
break  down  on  its  first  trip,  on  my  side, 
too,  going  all  to  pieces,  like  the  "one- 
hoss  shay,"  and  I  unable  to  secure  any 
redress.  No  matter  if  the  terrors  of  the 
law  hang  over  my  innocent  head,  and  that 
my  naughty  Max  is  always  getting  me 
into  a  distressing  complication.  No  con- 


n8  OVbanbonin    on  &botcb  farm. 


sequence  in  the  least,  if  I  am  regarded  far 
and  wide  as  a  repository  for  all  undesir 
able,  unsalable  things,  from  alligators  to 
zebras  ;  nothing  is  of  the  least  real  im 
portance,  in  the  light  of  this  "  fearful 
looking  for,"  which  in  my  second  child 
hood  and  senile  weakness  I  may  be  left 
to  realize  !  I  will  struggle  bravely  against 
being  escorted  down  the  "  post-meridian  " 
path  by  a  youthful  spouse  whose  bibs  I 
might  have  embroidered!  Let  me  turn 
for  relief  and  distraction  to  further  gems 
of  correspondence. 

A  woman  who  fell  through  her  barn 
loft  and  broke  her  left  leg  while  attending 
to  the  wants  of  her  poultry  ventures  to 
ask  a  loan  out  of  my  "  abundance,"  and 
offers  for  sale  at  a  reasonable  price  "  the 
old  carriage  or  parts  of  the  first  carriage 
that  President  Fillmore  ever  owned.  We 
have  three  wheels,  the  hub  of  the  fourth 
wheel,  the  axle,  the  driver's  seat,  and  the 
evener,  the  whiffletrees;  both  the  silver- 
mounted  handles  which  belonged  to  the 
doors." 

My  dangerous  experience  with  a  new 
and  loudly  bepraised  carriage  rendered 


facts  about  .farming.          119 

me  averse  to  investing  in  this  antiquated 
vehicle.  But  I  did  buy  from  her  an  old 
lantern  of  quaintly  perforated  tin,  brought 
from  Germany  over  six  generations  ago, 
and  in  return  I  received  a  poetical  effu 
sion  dedicated  to  myself,  entitled 

To  JUNE. 

Dedicated  to  Miss  K.  Sanborn. 
Ah,  June,  beautiful  June  ! 

Whither  art  thou  hastening 
All  too  soon  ? 

Stay  with  us,  stop  with  us,  linger  awhile, 
That  we  may  bask  in  thy  sunny  smile, 
And  drink  in  thy  beauties  that  so  beguile. 

Stop  with  us,  stay  with  us  still, 

Listen  to  the  wild  birds  in  their  musical  trill, 

Wooing  thee  well  with  a  joyous  tune, 

Singing  a  love  song  to  leafy  June  ; 

Go  not  hence  to  thy  sisters  fair, 

With  trailing  robes  and  gentle  air. 

Kiss  with  a  smile  the  violets  sweet, 

The  marguerites  stately  that  bloom  at  my  feet  ; 

Kiss  the  pansies  that  lie  in  the  shade, 

And  the  wild  roses  that  bloom  in  the  glade. 

Stay  with  us  even  till  midsummer's  noon — 

Bide  with  us,  dear  one,  go  not  so  soon. 

Ah.  mild-aired  and  gentle  June, 

Thou  of  the  sunny  skies  and  perfect  days  ! 


120  Qlbanboning  on  ^boptcb  .farm. 

While  thus  we  rhynre  these  simple  lays, 
We'll  tune  our  harps  to  sing  thy  praise, 
Rightly  named  the  "  month  of  roses," 
Poets  sing  in  songs  and  stories 
Of  thy  gentle  witching  ways. 

One  more  extract  from  the  jocose  let 
ter  of  a  noted  publisher: 

"  I  hope  that  the  crops  are  all  trying 
to  get  out  (I  don't  mean  the  hen  crops), 
but  the  potato  and  sich,  and  that  you  are 
finding  a  good  market  for  all  your  prod 
uce.  Do  you  drive  the  milk  route,  or 
can  you  trust  the  guests  with  the  cans 
and  be  sure  that  they  will  turn  in  every 
cent  ?  Try  the  bell-punch,  and  see  if 
your  receipts  do  not  enlarge.  I  should 
like  to  know  your  price  for  clams ;  we 
eat  a  good  many,  and  will  buy  in  the 
cheapest  market.  Turnip  tops  and  potato 
skins  in  equal  parts,  boiled  in  milk,  with 
nine  parts  water,  make  a  very  good  soup 
for  boarders  ;  and  brown  bread  can  be 
palmed  off  on  some  as  coffee.  I  only 
throw  out  these  suggestions  for  your  own 
benefit.  I  hope  that  you  will  not  overdo 
in  working  the  farm,  and  I  am  sure  that 
it  will  be  better  for  you  not  to  go  to 


iFacts  about  farming. 


church  at  all,  rather  than  to  do  as  far  too 
many  farmers  do  at  meeting — stand  out 
side  and  chew  a  straw  before  ser.vice,  and 
snore  while  the  good  pastor  preaches  and 
knocks  off  flies." 

My  mail-bag  would  easily  supply  mate 
rial  for  a  whole  chapter,  but  I  want  now 
to  talk  seriously  about  farming  as  a  pay 
ing  and  satisfactory  business  for  women. 
I  notice  in  papers  and  magazines  ama 
teurish,  optimistic  articles  on  this  theme 
which  have  had  a  false  and  dangerous  in 
fluence  upon  the  piteous  army  of  impe 
cunious  and  unemployed  women  who  are 
eagerly  looking  for  something  to  do  and 
some  practical  method  of  self-support. 
These  articles  speak  of  "dairying"  as 
pleasant  and  profitable ;  poultry,  mush 
rooms,  violets,  market  gardening,  etc. — 
treating  all  in  an  airy,  fairy  fashion  that 
shows  little  intimacy  with  the  truth  of  it. 

To  begin  with,  dairying  is  not  a  busi 
ness  that  can  well  be  carried  on  by  wom 
en.  As  an  honest  farmer  said  to  me  :  "  I 
wouldn't  bother  with  too  many  cows. 
They're  allus  a-goin'  out  or  a-comin'  in, 
or  a-dryin'  up,  or  farrer  or  chokin'  them- 


Qlbanboning  an  Qlboptcb  .farm. 


selves,  or  losin'  their  cud,  or  gettin'  out 
o'  paster,  or  may  be  inclined  to  hookin', 
and  they  die  easy,  though  they  look 
tough." 

No  desirable  man  can  be  hired  for  small 
wages,  and  valuable  cows  range  in  price 
from  fifty  to  three  hundred  dollars.  One 
must  have  capital  to  commence.  It  is 
hard  to  find  a  market,  at  least  a  paying 
market,  for  milk ;  harder  to  collect  the 
money.  The  farmer  sells  milk  at  two  and 
a  half  or  three  cents  a  quart,  which  is 
sold  in  Boston  the  same  morning  for  eight 
cents.  The  cream,  nicely  watered,  sells 
easily  at  sixty  cents  a  quart. 

If  we  have  a  calf  or  old  cow  to  dispose 
of,  butchers  are  instantly  overloaded  with 
the  same,  and  "  prices  are  'way  down." 
But  the  cows  go  right  on  eating  up  grain, 
which  never  seems  to  go  down,  except 
down  their  own  gullets.  The  grain  bill 
and  milk  bill  pretty  nearly  balance,  and 
nothing  is  left  but  a  residue  of  fertilizer. 
In  fact,  a  cow  is  a  living  machine.  I've 
made  butter  that  Mrs.  Lincoln  praised, 
but  if  I  wanted  to  sell  because  I  needed 
the  pay — ah,  there's  the  difference  ! 


:facts  about  farming.          123 


It  is  almost  impossible  to  find  a  cheap 
farm  with  good  pasture  and  RUNNING 
WATER  near  a  railroad,  and  a  market  for 
milk.  The  pay  is  pitiably  small,  and  even 
a  portion  of  this  is  withheld  from  you  as 
— "  surplus."  *  I  should  use  another 
word  with  the  same  initial  letter.  This 
surplus  is  utilized  for  butter,  which  you 
are  allowed  to  purchase  at  moderate 
rates.  You  sell  me  cherries.  I  use  a 
part  of  them  (without  paying)  for  pies 
and  preserves,  which  I  sell  to  you  or 
others. 

The  milk  cans  come  back  sour  and 
dirty ;  these  must  be  washed  and  scalded 
with  great  care,  and  the  corks  soaked  in 
boiling  water  aided  by  pearline — for,  as 
my  cook  remarks,  "  they  are  the  stink- 
ingest  things  !  "  After  all  possible  pre 
caution,  if  the  weather  is  hot  and  the 
route  long  you  will  have  it  returned  la 
beled  "Sour,"  and  it  is  a  loss,  unless  you 
have  hens  or  pigs,  to  whom  it  is  a  luxury, 
and  a  letter  warns  you  as  follows : 

*  My  nearest  neighbor,  with  thirty  cows,  had  a 
loss  through  "  surplus  "  of  sixteen  dollars  this  month. 

9 


124  QUwnboning  an  QVbopteb  .farm. 


"  Miss  SANBORN,  No.  53  : 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  Your  milk  is  coming  to  us 
sour,  and  unless  you  cool  it  properly  and 
send  it  to  us  sweet  we  can  not  use  it. 

"  Your  cans,  stoppers,  and  other  utensils 
must  be  kept  clean  and  sweet.  The  milk 
should  be  cooled  as  soon  as  it  is  taken 
from  the  cow,  and  kept  so.  The  water  in 
which  the  cans  are  placed  should  in  all 
cases  be  as  high  on  the  outside  of  the  can 
as  the  milk  is  on  the  inside.  The  tem 
perature  of  the  water  should  be  no  higher 
than  55°,  and  below  that  point  if  possi 
ble.  You  will  find  a  thermometer  very 
useful.  Your  personal  attention  to  this 
matter  will  oblige  I.  GOUGEM." 

I  must  add  that  the  neatest  housewife 
will  get  discouraged  and  disgusted  over 
said  cans,  as  her  own  will  not  be  returned, 
but  no  one  knows  whose  from  no  one 
knows  where.  I  have  seen  the  remains 
of  chicken  soup,  chocolate  ice  cream,  and 
omelet  passt  in  the  dirty,  malodorous 
depths  of  those  dropped  at  my  door,  after 
stoppers  are  removed  by  a  man  with  a 
hammer. 


.facts  about  farming.          125 


This  announcement  of  March  2d  is  a 
fair  sample  of  the  lack  of  encouragement 
for  butter-makers  : 

"SPREAD  TOO  THICK. — Surplus  of  but 
ter  makes  a  dull  market.  Receipts  since 
New  Year's  have  been  upward  of  three 
hundred  thousand  pounds  heavier  than 
they  were  in  the  first  two  months  of  1893." 

The  romantic  word  pictures  in  novels 
of  rosy  milkmaids,  snowy  arms,  dimpled 
elbows,  pretty  white  aprons,  golden  but 
ter,  yellow  cream,  red  lips,  cool,  shaded 
dairy,  rows  of  shining,  well-filled  pans, 
are  attractive,  but  the  reality  is  vastly 
different — at  least  in  Metcalf  ! 

For  those  who  seriously  contemplate 
cows  as  an  easy  means  of  support,  I  would 
suggest  that  they  first  try  to  lead  two 
frisky,  frightened  calves  from  the  pasture 
to  the  barn  when  a  sudden  thunderstorm  is 
on  and  your  so-called  "  help  "  has  not  re 
turned  from  Rumford,  and  the  nine  cows 
are  vociferously  entreating  some  one  to 
do  the  milking.  I  have  known  that  ex 
perience.  Or  to  churn  some  hot,  "mug 
gy  "  morning,  when  the  butter  won't 
"  come  "  in  three,  or  five,  or  seven  min- 


126  QUmnboning  on  QUiopteb 


utes,  as  usual,  and  with  weary  arms  on 
you  go,  turn-itty-turn,  chunk-atty-chunk, 
round  and  round,  round  and  round,  trying 
in  vain  a  pinch  of  salt,  a  little  bit  of 
warm  water,  a  small  piece  of  ice,  etc.,  and 
at  last  set  it  down  cellar  for  a  few  hours, 
then  boil  it,  let  it  cool,  and  finally  give  it 
to  the  hens.  That  I  also  have  endured. 
The  hens  like  it,  but  hardly  appreciate  my 
efforts.  Dairying  is  one  perpetual  job, 
and  one  needs  be  a  Job  to  master  it. 

Then,  poultry  farming  is  a  life  study, 
a  profound  art.  Nine  tenths  lose  and 
give  up  who  attempt  it.  If  I  should  cir 
cumstantially  describe  the  history  of  my 
two  hundred  fall  chickens  you  would  bet 
ter  realize  the  myriad  difficulties  in  this 
direction.  My  hens  are  now  rousing 
themselves  to  action,  and  I  search  the 
papers  for  prices,  and  read  thusly : 

"POULTRY  AND  EGGS. — Live  poultry 
has  been  in  excessive  supply,  and  values 
are  very  weak,  with  stock  pressing  for 
sale.  Fowls  are  10  @  ioy2c. ;  chickens, 
8  @  S1^  c. ;  roosters,  6  @  61/,,  c. ;  turkeys, 
8c. ;  ducks,  60  @  750.  per  pair  ;  and  geese, 
$i  @  $1.37.  Dressed  poultry  are  in  small 


£atls  about  .farming.          127 

demand.  A  good  many  lots  are  in  poor 
quality,  and  the  market  is  overstocked." 

As  the  old  lady  remarked,  "  Such  low 
rates  don't  pay  for  the  wear  and  tear  of 
the  hens."  There  is  no  fortune  in  hens. 

Letters  come  continually,  telling  sad 
stories,  asking  for  help,  and  suggestion 
and  advice.  I  will  quote  from  one  lately 
received  from  an  especially  bright  woman, 
earnest  and  energetic.  It  tells  the  out- 
and-out  truth,  so  seldom  seen  in  print,  in 
regard  to  women  as  farmers  : 

"  Until  a  few  years  ago  I  lived  in  New 
York  city.  My  husband  was  an  artist. 
He  died  five  years  ago.  Since  then  I 
have  been  a  recluse,  living  alone  on  a 
farm  that  I  had  the  misfortune  to  become 
the  owner  of  many  years  ago.  It  used 
to  be  pleasant  enough  to  come  here  for 
the  summer,  but  it  is  quite  a  different 
matter  to  attempt  making  a  living  by 
working  it.  I  went  at  farming  bravely — 
raised  chickens,  ducks,  and  calves.  The 
crows  didn't  carry  away  the  calves,  but 
they  did  eggs,  chicks,  and  ducks  at  a 
most  appalling  rate.  That  was  discour 
aging.  The  natives  here  informed  me 


128  ^banboning  an  QUJoptcb  .farm. 


that  there  is  a  law  protecting  crows — that 
a  tremendous  penalty  can  be  enforced  for 
poisoning  the '  critters,'  so  I  haven't  dared 
to  try  that  remedy.  Some  advised  shoot 
ing  at  the  ravenous  things,  but  seemed  to 
hold  to  the  opinion  that  it  wouldn't  an 
swer  to  kill  one.  Well,  I  hadn't  a  shooter, 
and  if  I  had  I  suppose  I  wouldn't  have 
dared  to  shoot;  not  that  there  would  be 
any  danger  of  killing  a  crow,  but  I'm 
timid  about  firearms  generally.  This  year 
I  entirely  abandoned  poultry  raising. 
When  I  first  began  farming,  having  in 
mind  the  lovely  little  rolls  of  Philadelphia 
butter  that  I  used  to  pay  from  fifty  cents 
upward  a  pound  for  in  New  York,  I 
thought  I'd  make  that  kind,  and  fame 
and  fortune  would  follow  sure.  I  man 
aged  to  establish  a  nice  little  dairy — only 
six  cows,  but  such  wonderful  ones  !  My 
six  produced  as  much  butter  as  did  eight 
een  'scrubby'  ones  on  an  adjoining  farm. 
I  did  make  gilt-edged  butter ;  but,  alas ! 
when  it  came  to  marketing  it  I  found 
that  cow  grease  of  any  and  all  kinds  went 
under  the  same  market  price  as  gilt-edged 
butter  put  up  in  the  most  tempting  pack- 


.facts  about  farming.          129 


ages!  So  I've  abandoned  my  lovely, 
petted  Durham  bossies;  have  kept  just 
one,  to  supply  my  humble  little  manage. 
As  for  '  garden  sass,'  how  I  did  work  and 
weed,  and  watch  and  pray — watched  for 
things  to  sprout,  prayed  for  rain,  and 
when  there  was  too  much  rain  prayed  for 
sun !  Well,  when  my  weary  back,  weary 
from  weed-pulling,  would  be  taking  a 
needed  rest,  because  everything  in  the 
garden  looked  thrifty,  and  I  in  a  mood  to 
give  fervent  thanks  to  Him  who  sent  just 
enough  each  of  sun  and  rain,  my  neigh 
bor's  hogs  and  cattle  would  be  let  loose 
to  forage,  and —  It's  well  that  I  hadn't  an 
arsenal  to  turn  upon  them.  My  courage, 
patience,  and  garden  have  given  out. 
The  jolliest  Mark  Tapley  would  have  a 
terrible  dampening  trying  to  fight  against 
the  fearful  odds  that  make  farming — at 
least  for  a  lone  woman — a  thing  to  be 
abandoned,  even  for  a  refuge  in  the  alms- 
house.'' 

She  now  writes  me  from  an  insane  asy 
lum  in  Kansas  as  presiding  matron — and 
greatly  prefers  the  situation.  If  she  had 
not  retired  from  the  unequal  fight  she 


130  &banboning  an  Slfooptefc 


would  probably  now  be  a  "shut-in"  in 
same  institution. 

Another  bit  from  a  bright,  versatile, 
accomplished  widow  who  is  trying  to 
carry  on  a  farm  near  me  : 

"  I've  been  attending  to  some  little  de 
tails  this  morning.  I  queried  how,  with 
out  giving  offense,  I  could  approach  a 
neighbor  across  the  way  who  has  been 
using  my  tip-cart,  roller,  lawn  mower, 
and  hose  constantly  during  the  past  three 
weeks.  I  queried  how  to  ask  for  the 
loan  of  my  hose,  tip-cart,  etc.,  for  an 
hour  or  two.  I  have  been  living  here 
ten  years,  and  been  "  running  "  the  farm 
eight  of  those  years,  during  which  time  I 
have  furnished  a  hay-cart  for  five  farmers, 
and  plow,  harrow,  etc.  If  I  were  to  live  it 
over  again  I  would  not  buy  a  tool  —  not  a 
tool  or  implement  to  mend  for  other  peo 
ple.  The  one  of  the  five  that  breaks  the 
hay-cart  never  can  be  found  ! 

"  Has  the  pesky  cankerworm  struck 
your  trees,  and  are  the  cutworm  and  the 
potato  bug  eating  ravenously  ?  I  wish  I 
could  abandon  my  adopted  -farm,  but, 
alas!  I  find  no  way  to  do  it.  Shall  you 


facte  about  farming.          131 


plant  and  sow  and  reap  and  mow  this 
year  ?  I  draw  the  line  at  tree  and  bush 
peddlers,  and  shake  my  head,  put  my  fin 
gers  to  my  ears,  and  play  deaf. 

"  Yours  sympathetically." 

I  can  not  advise  any  woman  to  go  into 
farming  or  poultry  or  dairy  business,  un 
less  she  has  a  certain  income  and  is  will 
ing  to  work  hard  and  endure  much.  She 
must  war  eternally  with  insects,  animals, 
and  birds,  and  expect  imposition,  extor 
tion,  and  cheating  on  every  hand.  There 
are  compensations  which  almost  balance 
these  hostile  forces,  but  they  will  only  be 
found  by  the  genuine  lover  of  country 
life. 

Women  on  the  farms  as  I  know  them 
have  too  much  work  and  too  little  recrea 
tion  ;  a  steady,  treadmill  grind,  and  few 
outings;  few  chances  to  exchange  ideas 
and  courtesies  with  women  that  are  not 
on  farms.  I  too  often  see  thin,  wrinkled, 
and  careworn  faces  among  farmers'  wives. 
When  I  meet  a  cheery,  buxom,  smiling 
woman  in  a  farmhouse,  who  cares  to  "fix 
up "  afternoons,  and,  as  the  saying  is, 


i32  Qtbanboning  an  ^.bopteb  .farm. 

"  go  "  a  little,  it  rejoices  my  heart,  and  I 
add,  "  God  bless  her  husband  !  "  who  evi 
dently  cares  more  for  her  happiness  than 
he  does  to  have  her  toil  sixteen  hours  out 
of  the  twenty-four.  I  think  of  the  time 
when  these  overworked  women  were 
brides,  blushing,  joyous,  eager  to  begin  a 
new  life  in  a  home  of  their  own,  proud  to 
do  anything  and  everything  for  the  dar 
ling  John  or  Jack  or  Jerry  who  had  won 
their  hearts. 

I  ask  most  thoughtfully,  Can  nothing 
be  done  to  make  the  farmers'  wives  of  the 
next  generation  a  little — no,  a  great  deal 
— more  happy,  and  to  prevent  the  causes 
of  such  overwork  ? 

No  women  ought  to  be  better  looking 
than  these  same  farmers'  wives.  They 
should  have  pure  country  air;  exercise 
(but  not  too  much  of  it)  indoors  and  out; 
the  best  of  everything  in  the  way  of  meats, 
fruits,  vegetables,  butter,  milk,  and  eggs, 
and  all  the  goodies  made  from  these  ;  rich 
cream,  and  delicious  homemade  preserves 
and  jellies.  They  should  have  horses  to 
drive,  should  belong  to  granges  and  wom 
en's  clubs,  and  take  part  in  the  exercises 


fads  about  farming.          133 

with  voice  and  pen.  They  should  be  in 
terested  in  the  county  fairs,  the  poultry 
shows,  church  sociables,  and  sewing  soci 
eties;  should  have  at  least  a  yearly  trip 
to  some  city;  plenty  of  good  papers  and 
magazines,  to  be  had  now  for  almost  noth 
ing,  considering  their  value;  and  should 
belong  to  a  book  club,  to  enjoy  the  newest 
publications.  Neighborhood  meetings  of 
young  and  old  should  be  held  once  a  fort 
night  to  talk  over  what  has  been  thus 
enjoyed,  while  the  children  get  better  ac 
quainted  over  their  games  and  discussing 
the  charming  stories  in  St.  Nicholas  or 
Youth's  Companion.  It  seems  not  a  bad 
lot,  after  all. 

But  is  this  the  way  in  which  the  major 
ity  of  farmers'  wives  in  New  England  now 
live  ?  The  improvement  has  been  great 
in  all  these  matters  during  the  last  twenty 
years.  But  it  is  still  true  that  it  is  the 
city  folks  who  enjoy  all  the  farm  luxuries, 
and  the  middlemen  get  the  profits  that 
should  go  to  the  farmers.  From  the  time 
that  the  sap  starts  in  spring  until  the  last 
hog  is  killed  in  February,  who  gets  the 
maple  sugar  and  sirup,  the  cherries, 


134  Slbanboning  an  ^.bopteb  ^ 


plums,  and  apples,  the  broilers,  the  eggs 
in  omelet  or  cake,  or  hard  boiled  for  jolly 
picnics  ?  Who  gets  the  spareribs  and  de 
licious  sausages,  the  thick,  yellow  cream, 
etc.  ?  Do  not  most  of  these  in  most  cases 
go  straight  to  market  ?  After  long  years 
of  such  strenuous  self-denial  in  matters 
of  diet  one  comes  to  look  pinched  and 
hungry.  City  friends,  who  are  so  loving 
and  devoted  and  hungry,  from  the  middle 
of  June  until  the  leaves  begin  to  fall  — 
we  all  know  them.  How  much  they  might 
do  for  farmers'  wives  and  daughters  by 
cordial  returns  of  the  summer's  hospi 
tality,  receiving  them  as  their  honored 
guests,  and  suggesting,  in  a  well-bred  and 
friendly  way,  little  improvements  in  mat 
ters  of  dress  and  adornment  !  What  hap 
piness  could  be  given  in  that  way  ;  with 
invitations  to  concerts,  and  lectures,  and 
picture-galleries,  and  drives!  Two  such 
weeks  of  city  life  each  year  would  furnish 
food  for  a  winter's  growth,  and  cause  a 
beautiful  development  of  character. 

I  believe  that  farmers'  wives  should  re 
ceive  regular  wages  from  their  husbands. 
Call  it  a  weekly  allowance;  but  let  each 


.facts  about  .farming.          135 


busy  woman  feel  sure  of  three  or  four  or 
five  dollars  every  Saturday  night,  and  an 
occasional  share  in  the  profits.  Why  not  ? 
Ah,  how  well  it  would  "pay"!  That  is 
what  some  farmers  think  of  first,  even  be 
fore  the  welfare  of  their  wives.* 

Let  each  daughter  and  each  son  have  a 
regular  business  of  his  or  her  own,  from 
which  to  gain  a  little  spending-money — a 
few  hens,  a  bit  of  ground  for  vegetables, 
a  tool  chest,  and  pay  for  good  jobs  done, 
some  animals  to  keep  or  to  raise  and  sell. 
If  this  plan  could  be  generally  adopted, 
the  exodus  from  New  England  would  not 
be  so  alarming  as  it  now  is.  The  boys  go 
West  for  a  chance  to  live  their  own  lives, 
to  see  a  little  of  the  world,  to  earn  money 
of  their  own,  to  get  out  of  grooves  and 
ruts,  and  from  under  a  rigid,  close-fisted 
master  whom  they  call  father.  No  in 
ducements  are  held  out  for  them  to  re 
main. 

Another  and  most  important  cause  of 

*  Many  farmers  send  two  wives  to  untimely 
graves  by  terrific  toil.  The  third  has  a  chance  of 
surviving  him  ! 


Qlbanboning  an  Qtbopteb 


poor  health  in  the  country  is  the  frequent 
neglect  of  drains  and  criminal  carelessness 
in  regard  to  sanitary  necessities.  A  friend 
of  mine  that  married  a  farmer  in  northern 
Vermont,  whose  home  is  on  a  high  hill, 
where  it  seems  as  if  the  bracing  winds 
would  blow  away  all  disease,  lost  her  only 
son,  a  dear,  bright  boy,  from  typhoid  fe 
ver,  caused  by  a  connection  between  the 
well  and  their  cesspool.  Near  by,  an  eld 
est  daughter  died  of  the  same  disease  from 
a  similar  cause;  and  when  the  father  real 
ized  this,  he  grew  morbidly  depressed  and 
hanged  himself  on  his  barn  door.  A  little 
decent  care,  and  all  might  have  been  pre 
vented.  I  often  see  a  half-rotten  wooden 
drain-pipe  running  from  the  kitchen,  with 
the  drinking  water  too  near  for  safety. 
If  farmers  had  their  dwellings  properly 
arranged  in  this  regard,  did  not  sell  all  of 
their  best  products,  and  insisted  upon  hav 
ing  good  roads,  making  driving  easy  and 
pleasant;  and  if  their  families,  not  even 
excluding  the  "  women-folks,"  were  al 
lowed  a  drive  occasionally,  there  would 
be  brighter  faces  and  happier  homes. 
There  are  in  this  land  many  farmers' 


.facts  about  .farming.          137 


daughters  who  are  filling  high  positions 
with  grace  and  ease  and  dignity.  There 
will  be  many  more  in  the  next  generation. 
It  is  seldom  those  who  have  the  greatest 
advantages  that  make  the  most  of  them 
selves.  The  farmer's  daughter  of  to-day 
can  put  herself  almost  where  she  pleases 
by  seizing  every  opportunity  for  improve 
ment  and  "  getting  on."  To  rest  content 
in  the  old  groove  is  fatal.  Now,  to  me 
the  chatty  "  Round  the  Table  "  or  "  Arm 
chair  "  or  "Aunty"  columns  in  agricul 
tural  papers  are  simply  sickening  from 
their  silliness,  going  over  the  same  old 
dribble  about  bachelors  and  old  maids, 
and  whether  it  is  proper  to  kiss  your 
escort  good-night,  and  what  will  cure 
freckles  or  improve  red  hair,  and  how  to 
do  tatting  and  make  rag  rugs,  with  con 
troversies  on  little  subjects,  and  some 
times  a  show  of  pertness  and  bad  temper. 
Those  columns  might  be  made  most  valu 
able  by  each  correspondent  taking  up  a 
trade,  a  business,  a  "  fad,"  a  study  of  some 
kind,  and  then  reporting  failure  or  suc 
cess. 

As   to   women's  work    on    the   farm,   I 


138  ^banboning  an  QVbopteb  farm. 


would  aim  to  have  it  simplified.  I  would 
have  dish-washing  machines  for  the  wives, 
as  men  have  machines  to  simplify  their 
labor.  Laundry  work  should  be  done  in 
some  co-operative  way  that  is  feasible. 
There  should  be  something  to  think  of 
besides  household  drudgery  and  idle  gos 
sip.  I  should  like  to  bring  the  city  nearer 
the  quiet  country  life,  and  would  suggest 
an  occasional  long  trip  such  as  the  teach 
ers  are  now  taking  in  their  vacations — 
and  they  have  less  to  spend  than  does  the 
average  farmer.  I  believe  in  women  hav 
ing  time  to  adorn  themselves  and  beautify 
their  homes ;  and  they  will  always  do  this 
unless  crushed  in  spirit  by  never-ending 
toil.  If  I  could  help  a  little  bit  toward 
this  very  possible  millennium,  with  tongue 
and  pen,  and  influence  and  example,  and 
letters  to  any  who  care  to  talk  over  the 
subject  in  a  most  practical  way,  I  should 
be  more  pleased,  more  proud,  than  if  I  had 
perched  on  the  north  pole  or  had  estab 
lished  communication  with  Mars. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

TRIBULATIONS    AND    COMPENSATION. 

"  Per  aspera  ad  astra." 

I  WOULD  like  to  say  that  I  regard  most 
of  the  farmers  I  see  as  unconscious  slaves 
to  middlemen  and  the  manure  heap  !  They 
work  too  continuously,  and  are  willing  to 
stay  as  they  are.  It  is  not  the  truest  in 
dependence  to  be  tied  to  a  plow  and  a  hoe 
handle.  But  I  dare  not  express  such  a 
sentiment. 

If  I  did  say  it,  no  one  would  believe 
me.  No  one  will  allow  me  to  be  in  ear 
nest.  If  I  tell  an  anecdote  about  myself, 
an  actual  happening,  it  is  considered  "  an 
entertaining  exaggeration."  In  the  Mid 
way  Plaisance  at  the  Chicago  Exposition 
we  staggered  along,  so  warm,  so  weary, 
so  footsore ;  and  as  we  passed  the  Lap 
landers'  village  a  "  whipper-in  "  accosted 
us  in  stentorian  tones,  urging  us  not  to 
omit  the  greatest  curiosity  of  the  whole 

IO  0391 


an  &boteb  ,farm. 


collection.  His  quick  eye  discerned  our 
agricultural  tendencies,  and,  enraged  at 
our  resistance  of  his  yawping  laudations, 
he  screamed  even  louder  as  we  turned 
away,  "  No  one,  who  had  a  soul  that  could 
soar  beyond  a  manure  heap  or  a  dish-pan, 
would  neglect  this  opportunity  !  " 

And  for  a  moment  we  forgot  our  fa 
tigue  in  hearty  laughter.  No  one  be 
lieves  this  to  whom  it  is  repeated. 

I  had  to  make  a  little  bit  of  a  speech 
lately  to  nearly  three  hundred  bright  men 
and  women,  and  although  they  kindly 
laughed  loud  and  long,  I  could  see  they 
did  not  believe  one  word  I  said,  one 
story  I  told  ! 

It's  horrible  to  labor  under  this  univer 
sal  doubt — this  regarding  me  as  a  bucolic 
Sapphira! 

I  am  strictly  truthful. 

I  can  not  get  rid,  if  I  would,  of  my  New 
England  conscience. 

I  told  of  a  few  things  which  had  been 
said  to  me  in  all  sincerity  :  such  as  the 
earnest  comment  of  my  faithful  old  col 
ored  cook,  Judy  Dickinson,  when  I  had 
been  enjoying  a  visit  from  Miss  Frances 


®ribnlalion0  anb  (Compensation.   141 

Willard.  I  told  Judy  of  her  grand  life- 
work,  her  noble  achievements  ;  of  the 
help  she  was  to  each  one  who  was  so  for 
tunate  as  to  come  under  her  blessed  in 
fluence,  and  how  useless  and  insignificant 
and  guilty  I  felt  in  contrast. 

Dear  Judy  looked  lovingly  at  me,  and 
said  :  "  I  do  declar,  Miss  Kate,  ef  you  was 
only  as  speritous  as  you  is  littery,  you 
would  do  just  as  much  good  in  dis  world 
as  dat  ar  woman  !  "  * 

They  did  not  believe  me! 

I  next  repeated  the  criticism  of  a  Bos 
ton  man  in  one  of  the  best  of  Boston's 
good  shops.  I  wanted  something  to 
wear  to  New  York  as  an  outside  garment. 


*  Poor  Judy  !  I  picked  up  the  remnants  of  a 
parasol  when  moving,  which  recalled  her  brief  but 
forcible  interview  with  the  young  woman  who  had 
alienated  her  husband's  affection.  She  returned,  ex 
cited  and  exhausted,  and  thus  explained  the  situation  : 

"  I  found  dat  woman  sitting  up  fine  on  a  sofa 
reading.  She  had  big  bangs  ;  put  on  de  style.  I  went 
straight  up  and  faced  her,  and  said  I,  '  Ef  you's 
Mis'  Dickerson,  who's  I  ?  and  ef  I  is  Mis'  Dickerson, 
den  who's  you,  I'd  like  ter  know  ? '  and  den  I  let  the 
parasol  fly  right  on  dem  bangs.  She  hollered,  'deed 
she  did." 


142  QUmnboning  an  ^bopteb  .farm. 


I  could  find  nothing  large  enough  that 
had  the  least  pretension  to  style.  Jack 
ets,  wraps,  cloaks,  capes — none  would  at 
all  become  me. 

I  stood  in  despair  after  trying  on  half  a 
dozen  varieties,  and  exclaimed  in  pathetic 
tone :  "  Am  I  really  the  biggest  woman  in 
Boston  ?  Is  there  no  help  for  me — no 
hope  of  getting  anything  ?  " 

The  "  sales-ladies  "  gathered  around  in 
sympathy.  At  last  it  was  decided  to  ap 
peal  to  a  member  of  the  firm  who  did  the 
special  importing.  He  might  possibly 
have  something. 

He  came — an  important,  bay-windowish 
personage,  with  a  fastidious,  traveled  ex 
pression  and  an  eyeglass.  I  wished  they 
hadn't  called  him.  I  felt  small  enough 
under  his  critical  survey,  but  braced  up 
and  "  stated  my  want." 

He  looked  at  me  in  silence,  asked  me 
to  revolve,  to  be  seated,  to  walk  about, 
to  stand  still.  Then,  removing  the  eye 
glass  with  the  air  of  a  judge  delivering  an 
opinion,  he  said,  "  I  think,  madam,  that  a 
woman  of  your  formation  would  look 
best  in  an  elongated  garment." 


tribulations  anfc  Compensation.   143 


"  Formation  !  " 

A.S  if  I  belonged  to  the  Neolithic  era, 
and  had  been  dug  up  somewhere  ! 

And  no  one  believed  me. 

I  told  them  of  the  giant  of  a  fellow 
seated  high  on  a  big  cart,  who  drove  in 
and  wanted  me  to  give  him  one  of  my 
books.  It  was  a  gratifying  compliment, 
but  I  felt  that  it  would  be  a  dangerous 
precedent,  and  he  was  so  overcome  by 
recent  libations  that  I  hoped  he  wouldn't 
mind  if  I  refused.  He  muttered  that  I 
might  repent  if  I  didn't.  But  as  he 
turned  around  to  leave  he  brightened  up, 
and  said  : 

"  Look  a-here  :  I'll  give  you  half  a  barrel 
of  shavings  I've  got  left,  and  a  peck  of 
Porters,  a  little  rotten,  but  the  rot's  most 
ly  cut  out.  Is  it  a  trade  ?  " 

And  it  was. 

Still  no  one  believed  me. 

So  I  stopped  talking.  One  loses  in 
spiration  with  such  an  avalanche  of  sus 
picion  resting  on  each  statement. 

Every  one  imagines  his  own  trials  are 
peculiar,  but  I  know  mine  are  !  My  phys 
ical  proportions  are  always  unduly  en- 


144  Qlbanboning  an  Qlboptefc  .farm. 


larged,  and  my  literary  pretensions  looked 
at  from  the  wrong  end  of  the  glass. 

Only  yesterday  I  drove  down  town  to 
bring  back  a  mammoth  laundress,  who, 
as  she  settled  her  elephantine  perspiring 
bulk,  crowded  me  out  upon  the  wheel. 
As  I  struggled  to  regain  a  minute  portion 
of  the  seat  she  looked  at  me  with  wonder 
ing  eyes  and  exclaimed,  "My,  ain't  you 
fat !  " 

I  work  three  months  in  public  and  pri 
vate  libraries  on  a  lecture — collect,  con 
dense,  boil  down  some  more,  presenting 
an  immense  amount  of  labor  in  an  off 
hand  style,  and  some  one  is  sure  to  say, 
in  a  superior  manner,  "  Yes,  we  really 
quite  enjoyed  your  little  talk  !  "  even  if 
utterly  ignorant  of  the  subject  treated. 

I  once  did  my  best  to  converse  with  an 
erudite,  formal  old  bachelor,  and  at  the 
close  of  the  visit  he  said,  in  the  same  su 
perior  style,  "  I  have  really  enjoyed  your 
cheerful  prattle  !  "  Oh,  it  is  too  bad  ! 

Then,  the  modest  requests  that  come  to 
me !  I  am  positively  staggered  by  the 
petitions  I  constantly  receive  through  the 
mail.  There  seems  to  be  a  general  long- 


tribulations  ana  (Compensation.   145 


ing  on  the  part  of  a  multitude  of  helpless 
females,  young  and  old,  to  be  my  "  com 
panion."  Now,  if  there  is  one  thing  I  am 
positive  I  do  not  want  and  will  not  have, 
and  will  pay  large  sums  to  escape  from,  it 
is  a  female  "  companion."  Oh,  the  inex 
pressible  horror  ! 

I  have  questioned  some  of  these  would- 
be  companions  in  this  way  :  "  Can  you 
read  aloud  for  hours  with  ease,  distinct 
ness,  and  expression  ?  " 

"  No — have  never  tried  that." 
"  Do  you  write  a  clear,  legible  hand,  or 
can  you  use  a  typewriter  ?  Can  you  read 
music  at  sight,  or  play  a  good  sympa 
thetic  accompaniment  ?  Are  you  a  fine 
French  scholar,  so  that  you  could  easily 
pilot  me  if  in  France  ?  Are  you  a  Ger 
man  student  ?  Can  you  play  without 
your  notes  in  the  twilight,  so  that  all  who 
hear  will  love  to  listen  and  feel  refreshed  ? 
Are  you  an  experienced  traveler  ?  Can 
you  act  as  courier  ?  Can  you  fit  a  waist, 
or  make  over  a  skirt,  or  mend,  or  make 
over  old  clothes,  or  cook,  or  wait  on 
table,  or  nurse  me  if  I  am  sick,  or  enter 
tain  me  with  conversation,  or  keep  my 


146  Qlbcmboning  an  QUioptcb  .farm. 


bureau  drawers  in  order,  or  do  ordinary 
housework  ?  "  No,  no.  Not  one  of  all 
these.  And  no  wish  to  learn.  All  that 
is  wanted  is  to  be  my  "companion,"  to 
travel,  to  meet  distinguished  people — to 
be  supported  while  I  suffer.  A  recent  let 
ter  shows  better  what  I  mean.  "  Luella, 
my  daughter,  wishes  to  see  you.  She  says 
she  knows  she  shall  like  you.  She  says 
she  wishes  you  had  to  hire  a  companion, 
and  would  hire  her  to  travel  with  you,  if 
only  at  a  small  salary,  so  she  can  finish 
her  musical  education,  so  she  could  earn  a 
good  living.  There  is  no  chance  here  but 
to  get  a  few  scholars,  and  she  is  so  anx 
ious  to  get  a  position.  She  says  she  wishes 
you  would  come  up  here.  She  is  going  to 
the  mountains  in  a  week  or  two,  and  says 
she  wishes  you  would  come  before  she 
goes,  or  wait  until  she  comes  back,  which 
would  be  some  time  in  September.  Luella 
was  playing  on  the  piano  this  morning, 
and  she"  said, '  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  could  earn 
a  lot  of  money,  so  I  could  get  me  a  new 
piano;  this  is  a  regular  old  rattle-trap !' 
She  said  she  did  not  see  why  some  girls 
who  had  a  good  chance  to  learn  music 


tribulations  anb  Qlompcnsalion.   147 


and  did  not  care  for  it  at  all,  they  could 
have  a  nice  new  piano  and  a  good  chance 
to  learn.  I  think  it  is  too  bad — she  is  such 
a  good  girl.  I  do  hope  you  will  answer 
this,  for  I  certainly  would  like  to  keep  up 
a  correspondence."  (! !) 

Let  me  now  boldly  state  that  I  am  de 
termined  to  live  and  die  without  a  so- 
called  "companion." 

I  am  asked  to  contribute  whole  chap 
ters  on  woman's  work  to  other  women's 
books,  without  the  slightest  allusion  to 
remuneration ;  to  lend  my  lectures  for 
another  woman  to  read,  to  furnish  maga 
zine  articles  for  a  new  venture,  sending 
a  slight  sketch  of  my  life  and  a  photo 
graph  ;  to  lecture  at  a  dozen  women's 
clubs  each  season,  paying  expenses,  and 
for  no  honorarium  but  the  expressed  thanks 
and  unexpressed  (to  me)  criticisms  of  said 
clubs.  It  does  seem  amazingly  rude  to 
request  a  woman  to  take  a  journey  in  win 
ter  weather,  when  such  exposure  may 
endanger  life,  to  entertain  a  coterie  of 
unknown  women  for  an  hour  with  an  essay 
that  has  cost  months  of  hard  work,  and 
then  go  home  again  with  nothing  but  a 


148  Qlbanboning  an  Slbojitcb  ^ 


severe  cold  or  sore  throat  !  I  am  re 
quested  perennially  to  read  for  charity, 
and  have  read  to  provide  carpets,  stained- 
glass  windows,  water  coolers,  a  suit  for  a 
missionary,  the  beginning  of  a  library, 
for  aged  women  and  homeless  infants.  — 
Also  to  furnish  something  "  bright, 
breezy,  characteristic,"  in  my  best  style, 
for  a  paper  in  a  church  fair  —  as  if  I  kept  a 
dozen  such  desirable  sketches  on  hand 
for  these  opportunities  for  benevolence. 
Then,  interviews  where  reporters  swoop 
down  upon  me  just  at  lunch-time,  and  no 
hope  of  relief  until  the  afternoon  train, 
hungry  for  material  and  all  the  goodies 
that  appertain  to  a  farm,  and  evidently 
feel  that  they  are  conferring  a  great  honor 
upon  me.  Sister  spinsters,  with  flourish 
ing  boarding-schools,  that  pay  splendidly, 
patronized  by  rich  families  —  such  spin 
sters  come  to  me  begging  an  hour's  prac 
tical  talk  for  their  dear  girls  —  such  a  talk 
(practical,  original,  impressive,  helpful) 
as  I  could  easily  give.  And  then  the 
good  I  might  do  !  Oh,  yes,  dear  spinsters. 
But  I  would  rather  see  a  ten-dollar  bill 
—  even  if  it  had  been  torn  in  two  and 


tribulations  anb  (Compensation.   149 


pasted  together  with  dirty  brown  paper — 
ten  dollars  with  which  I  could  help  some 
one — than  to  listen  to  your  unmeaning 
compliments ! 

I  might  prolong  the  agonies  of  this  ar 
ticle  by  a  long  list  of  modest  requests : 
as,  being  a  chaperone  for  two  wild  girls 
for  Harvard  class  day  ;  to  furnish  long 
lists  of  books  for  courses  of  reading ;  to 
state  what  were  the  most  potent  forma 
tive  influences  of  my  youth.  And  if  I 
go  far  away  to  some  distant  Eden,  it  is 
distressing  to  find  that  I  am  expected  to 
"do  something"  all  the  time  to  furnish 
entertainment  for  a  lazy  crowd.  "Well, 
what  will  you  do  for  us  to-night?"  said 
a  girl  of  twenty-five  years  to  me.  I  re 
plied  :  "  I  think  it  is  your  turn  now. 
What  can  you  do — sing  ?  "  "  Oh,  no  !  " 
"  Play  ?  "  "  Only  a  very  little."  "  Tell 
a  good  story  ?  "  "  Bless  you,  never  could 
do  that !"  "  Play  whist  or  chess  ?"  "Too 
much  bother."  "  Recite  or  read  ?  " 
"Gracious,  no  !  I'm  not  a  professional." 
"  If  I  were  you  I  would  fit  myself  to  do 
something  for  others'  amusement,  even  if 
you  never  rise  to  the  heights  of  an  ama- 


Slbanboning  on  SUiojjtcb  farm. 


teur.  I  would  not  stupidly  sit  and  expect 
older  people  to  do  all  the  '  work."  "  She 
looked  aggrieved.  But  her  "  modest  re 
quest  "  roused  for  once  a  sincere  reply. 

Then  I  am  petitioned  to  buy  "  hooked- 
in  "  rugs  to  save  children  from  starving  ;  to 
purchase  a  high-posted  buggy — no,  I  mean 
a  bedstead,  that  has  been  in  constant  use 
in  a  family  for  seventy  years ;  to  take  at 
reduced  rates  an  Afghan  that  the  woman 
can  not  sell.  She  frankly  states  that  she 
has  tried  it  at  three  fairs,  and  has  had  it 
on  sale  at  her  home  for  two  years,  and 
no  one  would  take  it.  She  thought  I 
might  like  it. 

I  like  rag  rugs — make  'em  myself.  I 
believe  in  homely,  homemade  decorations 
for  a  farmhouse.  I  visited  a  big-hearted 
woman  the  other  day,  whose  husband  was 
crippled  in  the  war.  He  has  a  small  pen 
sion,  and  she  writes  and  works  and  does 
much  to  support  and  educate  the  family. 
There  I  saw  a  rug  with  an  eagle  and  flag 
worked  in,  and  the  blood-stains  on  the 
coat-sleeve  that  had  seen  hard  fighting 
were  pathetically  prominent. 

The  queerest  thing  I  ever  did  see  in 


(tribulations  anb  (Compensation.   151 


amateur  art  was  a  picture-frame  to  sur 
round  the  face  of  a  dear  departed  spouse, 
designed  by  his  appreciative  relict.  The 
frame  was  at  first  covered  with  soft  putty  ; 
on  that  were  stuck  flowers  of  an  entirely 
unknown  species  made  of  shavings  from 
the  coffin.  Inside  this  were  various  ten 
der  mementoes — a  lock  of  his  hair,  two  of 
his  teeth  which  she  had  always  kept,  three 
kernels  of  corn,  a  bottle  of  homoeopathic 
pills,  of  which  he  had  taken  half,  several 
shirt  buttons,  the  silver  coffin-plate,  and 
some  raisins !  She  explained  that  once 
when  he  went  to  town  he  brought  her 
home  a  whole  pound  of  table  raisins,  and 
he  said  :  "  '  Now,  Sophrony,  these  are  for 
you,  to  use  just  as  you  like,  and  all  for 
yourself.  Don't  stone  'em  for  cakes  or 
pies.  Just  eat  'em  yourself.'  It  was  real 
good  of  him,  wasn't  it  ?  So  I  never 
could  bear  to  eat  none  of  them,  when  he 
was  so  thoughtful,  and  I  says  I'll  preserve 
some  of  'em  right  here  !  " 

There  was  a  piece  of  his  last —  But, 
sho  !  You  will  not  believe  me  if  I  go  on, 
and  it  would  crush  me  to  lose  your  con 
fidence. 


i5 2  QVbcmboning  on  Qlbopteb  .farm. 


Almost  as  bizarre  was  the  "  Crazy  Jug," 
a  fad  in  our  circle  last  year.  A  jug  is 
first  varnished,  then  covered  with  rice, 
and  every  sort  of  oddity  stuck  on,  as  a 
boot-buttoner,  wishbones  gilded  or  plain, 
hairpins,  buttons  large  and  small,  half  a 
pair  of  scissors,  old  buckles,  etc.,  "  too 
numerous  to  mention,"  and  finally  bronzed 
with  a  really  artistic  effect.  One  was  pre 
sented  to  me,  which  I  prize  highly. 

Mrs.  Rollins,  whose  descriptions  of  early 
New  England  life  are  as  accurate  and  clear 
as  a  verbal  mirror,  speaks  of  the  ingenious 
attempts  to  beautify  the  home  by  faithful 
Hannah,  one  of  those  old-time  servants 
"  who  never  changed  her  place,  and  spun 
and  wove  and  knit  and  stitched  her  strength 
into  the  fabrics  of  the  house  until  her  hair 
grew  gray  and  her  eyes  dim  in  its  service. 
. . .  Hannah  had  queer  ways.  She  was  given 
to  interior  adornments,  and  the  fruits  of 
her  needlework  were  thick  in  the  house. 
These  were  not  fine,  but  considering  the 
material  from  which  she  wrought  them, 
and  the  time  and  patience  which  she  gave 
to  them,  they  were  worthy  of  praise.  She 
pinned  black  broadcloth  cats  to  the  wall, 


tribulations  anb  Compensation.   153 


brought  out  in  silhouette  upon  red  flannel. 
As  portraits  they  were  failures,  and  little 
Benny  was  always  saying  to  her  that  he 
was  sure  he  had  never  seen  any  cats  like 
them.  She  hung  novel  comb-cases  under 
all  the  bedroom  looking-glasses.  These 
were  of  varied  shapes  and  materials,  some 
of  broadcloth,  some  of  straw,  and  less  pre 
tentious  ones  of  covered  pasteboard,  all 
much  stitched  with  colored  silks.  The 
patchwork  about  the  house  was  endless. 
Hannah  hoarded  scraps  of  silk  and  cam 
bric,  and  pieced  them  together  into  pin- 
balls,  chair-cushions,  and  coverlets.  She 
glued  painted  pictures  to  the  inside  of 
wide-mouthed  glass  jars,  which  she  filled 
with  flour  and  planted  with  asparagus, 
thus  simulating  quaint  vases.  She  em 
bossed  blown  egg-shells  with  the  pith  of 
bulrushes,  coiled  round  bits  of  bright  silk, 
and  hung  them  upon  pine  boughs  in  the 
fireplaces  of  the  front  rooms.  Homely 
handiwork,  but  well  seasoned  with  the 
true  flavor  of  rustic  life." 

Another  trial  has  been  the  wondering 
comment  on  my  having  the  good  sense 
to  love  the  country.  My  friends  every- 


i54  Qlbanboning  an  ^boptcb  .farm. 


where  regarded  my  desertion  of  city  life 
and  "social  duties"  as  mysterious  and 
almost  wrong.  Had  I  degenerated  into 
a  harmless  lunatic;  or  was  I  a  fugitive 
from  justice;  or  had  paresis  claimed  me 
for  its  own?  Was  I  simply  a  little  more 
eccentric  than  usual  ?  Curiosity  and  in 
quiry  rose  to  fever  height.  Letters  be 
gan  to  arrive  addressed  to  the  Mayor  of 
Metcalf,  to  the  postmaster,  to  the  Poor 
Farm,  to  Holliston  Cemetery  Association. 
Mrs.  Johnson,  of  the  Sherborn  Reforma 
tory  for  Women,  received,  I  believe,  sev 
eral  delicately  veiled  missives  of  interro 
gation.  Had  I  married  a  man  I  dared  not 
display  ?  Had  a  big  wen  grown  on  the 
end  of  my  nose  ?  Did  I  really  prefer 
the  society  of  hens  to  women,  and  the 
companionship  of  dogs  and  horses  to  re 
ceptions  and  a  maelstrom  of  "  functions  "  ? 
At  last  reporters  were  sent  out  on  a 
searching  expedition.  Then  I  saw  that 
longer  concealment  was  impossible.  I 
must  now  show  my  find  to  the  world. 
Engraved  invitations  were  sent  to  seven 
hundred  dear  friends  in  all  parts  of  the 
civilized  globe,  six  weeks  in  advance,  to 


GTribnliUions  ana  Compensation.   155 

be  present  at  a  rural  festival,  September 
17,  1892,  offering  as  attractions  home 
made  pies,  husking  party  (plenty  of  red 
ears),  old-fashioned  games,  concert,  re 
gatta  on  lake,  dance  in  barn,  legerde 
main  exhibition,  and  a  lunch  under  the 
maples.  Two  hundred  and  seventy-five 
loyal  friends  from  nine  different  States 
responded,  and  from  noon  to  9  P.  M.  we 
had  a  glorious  reunion.  It  is  the  pleas- 
antest  memory  of  my  life  here. 
This  was  the  style : 

Miss  KATE  SANBORN 

requests  the  pleasure  of  your  presence  at  a 

Co-operative  Rural  Festival, 

Saturday,  September  17,  1892. 

Breezy  Meadows,  Metcalf,  Mass. 

(The  "  Abandoned  Farm.") 
Each  guest  may  contribute  some  "  goody  " 

not  indigenous  to  Gooseville. 

Lunch  at  1.15.  Hens  fed  3.30  precisely. 

Homemade  pies.       Husking  party.      Old-fashioned 

games.  Ride  on  lake.  Dance  in  barn. 

Trains  leave  Boston  &  Albany  Station, 

10.55;  2.15  ;  4.30;  5.25. 
Return  4.05.  Special  evening  train  nine  o'clock. 

If  stormy, 

picnic  postponed  until  first  decidedly  pleasant  day. 
Please  respond  promptly. 


156  Qlbunboning  an  ^boptcb  farm. 


I  will  quote  from  the  description  given 
by  a  friend : 

"  A  few  minutes'  ride  brought  us  to 
Metcalf,  and  there,  upon  a  dais  at  the 
base  of  the  flagstaff  upon  the  little  green, 
stood  the  radiant  hostess,  waving  a  small 
banner  in  each  hand  in  welcome  to  the 
guests  that  flocked  from  the  train. 

"The  programme  was  next  read  in  im 
pressive  orotund  by  a  distinguished  di 
vine  : 

Rural  Festival  and  Co-operative  Columbian  Col 
lation,  Breezy  Meadows,  September  17,  1892.  Pro 
gramme  : 

12.28 — Arrival  at  station.  Rally  around  flag. 
Reading  of  programme. 

12.35 — Grand  march  from  station.  Walking  the 
plank,  single  file.  Guests  will  be  "headed  off"  at 
the  triumphal  arch. 

12.42 — Halt  for  repairs  at  arch.  Welcome  from 
Gooseville  quartette. 

12.50 — Opportunity  for  rest  after  remarks  of  host 
ess  ;  physicians  with  restoratives  at  hand  ;  ambu 
lance  in  attendance. 

12.55 — Announcements  by  marshal. 

1.15 — Fifteen  minutes  for  mental  refreshment. 
Recess  and  preparatory  fast.  Guests  will  form  in 
line  at  Grindstone  for  sharpening  their  appetites. 
Welcome  to  house,  barn,  lake,  monument,  pasture, 


tribulations  anb  Compensation.   157 


and  orchard.  Help  yourself  freely  to  the  green  ap 
ples.  Do  not  disarrange  the  barb-wire  fence.  Ca 
pacity  of  hammocks  not  warranted  beyond  300 
pounds. 

2.15 — Round-up  for  lunch.  Grand  march  to  Mer 
rill's  Maples.  The  police  must  and  will  preserve 
order.  Lunch,  followed  by  speeches,  songs,  recita 
tions. 

3.30 — Pilgrimage  by  survivors  to  poultry  yard  ; 
hens  fed. 

4 — Regatta  on  lake. 

4.30 — Old-fashioned  games  around  the  tlm,  and 
husking  party. 

6  to  7 — Concert. 

7.30  to  8.30 — Dancing  in  the  barn. 

9 — Last  departing  train.  Final  opportunity  for 
escape. 

"  Arrived  in  front  of  the  house,  the 
hostess  stood  beneath  an  arch  of  golden- 
rod  and  clematis,  spanned  at  top  with  an 
ornamental  sign,  '  Gooseville,'  and  from 
that  position  she  welcomed  her  friends  to 
the  freedom  of  her  house,  barn,  poultry- 
house,  the  'lake,'  'tower,'  and,  in  fact, 
to  all  of  her  possessions.  'And  now,' 
she  said,  '  we  will  hear  from  the  other 
members  of  the  Gooseville  quartette.' 
Whereupon  an  attendant,  at  a  sign,  re 
moved  a  cover  from  a  large  box  near  the 


158  Slbanfconing  an  Qlbopteb  farm. 

front  door,  and  out  sprang  three  hand 
some  geese,  which  ran  screaming  through 
the  groups  of  guests  away  toward  their 
quarters,  followed  by  the  shouts  of  laugh 
ter  of  the  amused  assembly. 

"  Everybody  was  at  home  at  once ;  old 
friends  were  greeted  and  new  ones  made ; 
the  countless  treasures  of  the  different 
rooms,  the  spoil  of  the  world-famous  auc 
tions,  were  looked  over;  the  poultry  build 
ings — including  a  new  house  about  a  hun 
dred  feet  long — were  inspected,  the  cele 
brated  '  lake '  visited,  and  the  hour  pre 
ceding  the  '  spread '  too  quickly  passed 
away,  the  warning  '  toot-toot '  of  the  farm 
dinner-horn  calling  the  guests  to  assem 
ble  for  the  march  to  the  tables,  which 
were  spread,  beneath  the  maples  on  a 
neighbor's  lawn,  a  few  rods  away — this 
excellent  arrangement  freeing  her  own 
farm  from  all  the  trouble  and  annoyance 
of  a  large  corps  of  helpers,  reserving  it 
for  the  more  immediate  entertainment  of 
the  guests.  Arrived  at  the  tables,  friends 
were  asked  to  take  seats  wherever  their 
taste  or  inclination  suggested.  No  re 
served  seats  for  distinguished  guests;  all 


tribulations  anfc  Compensation.   159 

these  friends  were  distinguished,  hence 
were  all  treated  alike. 

"  The  after-dinner  speeches  were  spon 
taneous  and  brilliant  from  both  men  and 
women. 

"  There  was  a  carefully  worded  note 
from  the  Hon.  Grover  Cleveland. 

"  On  its  face  a  casual  inquiry  in  regard 
to  the  kind  of  bait  used  in  our  lake  for 
horned  pout.  It  did  not,  however,  con 
ceal  the  writer's  anxiety  as  to  the  polit 
ical  significance  of  the  assemblage. 

"  Miss  Sanborn's  brother  read  the  let 
ters  of  regret,  which  he  did  in  a  manner 
most  pleasing,  and  with  a  gravity  unim 
peachable.  One  from  the  Hon.  Jerry 
Simpson,  'the  sockless  Socrates  of  the 
West,'  urging  that  Miss  Sanborn  turn  the 
occasion  to  the  furthering  the  interests 
of  the  '  Farmers'  Alliance,'  and  suggesting 
her  taking  the  lead  in  that  party's  cam 
paign.  From  the  Hon.  Jeremiah  Rusk, 
speaking  of  the  great  help  to  the  depart 
ment  of  her  Standard  Work  on  Agricul 
ture,  and  the  absorbing  interest  he  had  in 
the  valuable  experiments  Miss  Sanborn 
was  conducting,  among  them  being  '  the 


160  Qtbanboning  an  "Stbopteb  .farm. 


grafting  of  the  tomato  upon  the  potato 
plant,  with  a  view  to  the  raising  of  a  crop 
of  tubers  beneath  the  surface,  and  an 
other  crop,  of  tomatoes,  upon  the  stalks 
of  the  plant,  above  ground ;  also  the 
doubling  of  the  honey  crop  by  crossing 
the  honey  bee  upon  the  firefly,  so  that 
the  bee  could  gather  honey  at  night  by 
its  own  light ;  raising  the  painted  variety 
of  broom-handle,'  etc.  It  was  great  fun, 
and  more  than  one  of  the  guests  found  it 
difficult  to  determine  where  the  '  fake ' 
letters  ended  and  the  genuine  letters  be 
gan. 

"  Mr.  Hezekiah  Butterworth,  «  The 
Youth's  Companion,'  continued  the  en 
tertainment  with  anecdotes  and  shrewd 
observations  pertinent  to  the  occasion, 
closing  by  reciting  the  first  and  last  verses 
of  an  old  New  England  husking-party 
song,  which  he  had  recently  discovered  in 
his  old-book  rambles,  the  last  verse  of 
which  is — 

'  I  wish  I  was  a  geese, 

All  forlorn  ; 

I  wish  I  was  a  geese, 

All  forlorn  ; 


tribulations  anb  (Compensation.   161 


I  \\ish  I  was  a  geese, 
For  they  lives  and  dies  in  peace, 
And  accumulates  much  grease, 
Eating  corn.' " 

And  the  reminiscent  epistles  were  equal 
ly  pleasant.  A  noted  Boston  man  wrote: 

"  It  was  a  great  day.  I  enjoyed  it 
hugely.'  I  gave  up  my  choice  of  three 
great  banquets,  but  I  would  not  have 
missed  your  luxurious  lark  for  three  times 
three  times  those  ordinary  hotel  spreads. 
In  this  busy  life  it  is  not  everything  that 
sticks,  but  your  day  will  abide  as  a  story 
for  my  children's  children." 

And  just  one  more: 

"  I  never  had  so  good  a  time  in  ail  my 
life  before.  Never  did  nine  consecutive 
hours  go  so  swiftly  and  delightfully. 
Everything  was  perfect.  Weather  made 
to  order.  Every  detail  was  carried  out. 
Your  farm  was  fairyland.  Alhambra,  a 
little  touch  of  Venice,  all  combined  ;  every 
stone  so  immaculate;  the  old  barn  so 
trim  and  tidy ;  the  narrow  sidewalk  so 
prim  ;  the  decorated  grounds,  with  stacks 
of  hay-rakes  and  strings  of  lanterns,  so 
bewitchingly  attractive ;  those  sheaves 


162  Qlbanboning  on  &boptcb  .farm. 


of  ripened  grain  ;  the  teter,  the  'room  for 
two,'  the  lake  so  neatly  stoned  up  all 
round,  the  triumphal  arch,  the  dinner, 
the  whole  thing  absolutely  delightful 
and  unrepeatable — once  only  in  a  life 
time." 

Ah,  it  is  in  this  way  that  my  farming 
does  pay !  Such  a  glorious  opportunity 
to  repay  hospitalities,  to  bring  friends 
together,  to  give  them  a  jolly  outing! 
And  in  my  new  home  I  hope  to  have 
many  a  house-warming  and  heart-warm 
ing. 

And  do  I  then  abandon  farming  ?  Not 
for  my  own  benefit,  but  no  longer  shall  I 
try  to  make  money  by  selling  to  others. 
If  hard-handed,  long-headed,  tight-fisted, 
squeeze-a-penny-till-it-squeals  old  farm 
ers  of  forty  years'  toiling  experience  fail 
to  get  much  beyond  a  mortgage  and 
the  plainest  sort  of  living,  why  should 
I  continue  my  well-meant  but  absurd 
efforts  ? 

No.  In  the  words,  slightly  altered,  of 
Pope's  Ode  on  Solitude,  written  before  he 
was  twelve  (if  he  had  been  more  mature 
it  would  not  have  seen  the  light)  : 


^Tribulations  onb  QTompcnsation.   163 


"  Happy  the  she  whose  wish  and  care 
A  few  well-enriched  acres  bound, 
Content  to  breathe  pure  country  air 
In  her  own  ground." 

My  own  !  And  may  I  tell  you  about 
the  new  "  Breezy  Meadows  "  ?  A  fine  old 
home,  nearly  eighty  acres  of  land,  two 
swimming  pools,  a  little  forest  of  oak  and 
chestnut,  grand,  superb,  magnificent,  re 
spect-compelling  old  elms  all  about  the 
lawns,  a  pond-lily  pool,  and,  best  of  all,  a 
brook.  I  always  have  hankered  for  a 
brook  that  I  could  take  a  personal  inter 
est  in  as  partially  my  own,  and  surely  now 
I  have  a  merry  musical  brook  meandering 
in  graceful  curves  across  my  fields.  Don 
ald  Mitchell  says:  "I  believe  there  is 
nothing  in  Nature  which  so  enlarges  one's 
love  for  the  country  and  binds  it  with 
willing  fetters  as  the  silver  meshes  of  a 
brook." 

The  house  is  seventy-five  years  old,  and 
one  old  inhabitant  can  remember  the  great 
event  of  the  "  raising."  The  men  used  to 
gather  from  other  towns  to  assist.  One 
big  house,  a  mile  away,  was  put  up  in  the 
morning,  and  then,  after  a  hearty  meal, 


164  QVbanboning  an  Qtbopteb  .farm. 


closing  with  a  course  of  one  hundred  and 
forty-three  pumpkin — no,  "  punkin  "  pies 
— and  two  barrels  of  hard  cider,  this  build 
ing  was  erected.  He  says  that  men  were 
so  elated  that  they  skipped  lightly  as 
mice  over  the  ridgepole,  and  no  one  was 
hurt. 

Tearing  off  the  papers,  curious  hand- 
painting  is  revealed ;  and  one  paper, 
which  you  may  well  believe  is  not  to  be 
disturbed,  was  put  on  before  the  inven 
tion  of  rolls  of  paper,  and  was  made  in 
small  squares. 

My  antique  treasures  will  properly  be 
placed  in  that  room. 

Do  I  ever  attend  auctions  now  ?  Yes, 
indeed,  and  get  as  good  bargains  as  ever. 
At  a  sale  of  horses,  harnesses,  and  ve 
hicles  of  all  kinds,  I  arrived  as  the  auc 
tioneer  held  up  half  a  dozen  new  whips, 
worth  at  least  fifty  cents  each.  Some  one 
started  with  "  Twenty-five,"  and  I  boldly 
added  "  Thirty."  Then  there  was  a  strange 
pause,  which  I  could  not  understand  until 
an  explanation  was  called  for,  and  a 
bright-faced  boy  said,  "  You  know  we 
wouldn't  any  of  us  bid  against  that  lady." 


®  tribulations  an&  Compensation.   165 


I  also  secured  an  astonishing  carryall, 
with  three  corduroy  cushioned  seats,  easy 
springs,  solid  wheels,  queer  high  windows, 
looking  as  ancient  and  comical  as  Sydney 
Smith's  famous  carriage,  "  The  Immor 
tal,"  for  six  dollars  and  ten  cents!  All 
agreed,  you  see,  that  it  was  just  suited  to 
my  especial  style  and  needs. 

I  was  half  ashamed  to  bring  it  home 
for  critical  inspection,  but  it  won  all 
hearts  at  once.  It  could  be  used  to  carry 
a  picnicking  load,  or  utilized  as  a  milk- 
cart,  or  sent  to  the  station  on  rainy  days 
for  guests,  or  I  could  go  out  and  peddle 
vegetables  from  door  to  door.  As  I  have 
had  three  men  come  to  buy  it  from  me  at 
increased  value,  I  am  properly  pleased 
and  proud. 

Again,  I  went  with  my  invaluable  cook 
and  right-hand  woman  to  a  sale  of  farm 
stock  and  brought  home  triumphantly 
two  cows,  pronounced  to  be  first  class. 
The  auctioneer  agreed  to  look  mean 
ingly  at  me  when  the  animals  I  should 
buy  were  brought  out,  so  I  deserve  no 
credit.  He  said  to  the  crowd,  "  Gentle 
men  and  ladies — for  I  am  glad  to  say  we 


i66  Qlbanbonittcj  an  Qlboptcb  .farm. 

have  ladies  with  us  to-day — I  am  now 
about  to  offer  for  sale  a  dozen  of  the 
finest  milkers  in  the  country." 

A  drunken  man  rather  annoyed  me  by 
standing  near  me  and  bidding  loudly,  and 
then  saying  in  a  confidential  tone:  "  I'm 
bidding  for  you.  /  don't  want  her.  She's 
a  bargain.  You'll  double  your  money." 
But  no  one  minded  him. 

The  owner  was  solemnly  called  out  to 
testify.  "  Now,  Mr.  Wheeler,  you  come 
out  here  and  tell  all  you  know  about  these 
cows  of  yours — be  it  good  or  be  it  bad. 
If  any  one  of  'em  is  gargetty  or  breachy, 
say  so — say  so,  and  stand  by  !  " 

Those  I  bid  on  and  bought  were  char 
acterized  as  "  Butes,  real  butes,"  and  they 
do  "  show  up  "  well  in  the  fine  stalls  of 
my  big  barn. 

Then  let  me  report  briefly  on  the  horse 
question.  My  luck  has  turned.  I  ex 
changed  a  backer  for  the  prettiest  gray 
mare — high  spirited  yet  gentle,  my  con 
stant  delight.  Needing  a  farm  horse,  I 
sent  in  Mr.  Wood,  and  he  found  a  perfect 
wonder  for  thirty-five  dollars!  I  named 
him  "  Horace  Greeley  "  at  once,  that  he 


STribnlations  anb  (Compensation.    167 

might  show  us  what  he  knew  about  farm 
ing.  He  has  but  one  fault,  and  that  I 
sympathize  with.  At  half-past  twelve,  his 
dinner  hour,  he  has  twice  come  home 
alone  on  a  full  canter.  Well,  Horace  him 
self  ran  once,  you  know  ! 

"Viva,"  the  beautiful  colt,  was  named 
after  my  Hindoo  friend,  but  has  not  yet 
acquired  his  repose  of  manner. 

All  that  now  remains  for  me  to  tell  is 
of  my  "  flitting  "  from  the  old  love  to  the 
new. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

HOME. 

No  place  like  it ! 

IT  is  the  day  after  the  "  glorious  Fourth," 
and  so  forth,  which  means  that  we  have 
passed  through  the  usual  idiocies  of  that 
dreadful  holiday,  are  still  alive  with  no 
mutilation,  kept  awake  the  night  before 
by  twanging  fish-horns,  bells,  and  crack 
ers,  and  alarmed  in  the  morning  by  the 
bursting  of  the  old  cannon,  demolishing 
the  windows  of  enraged  and  outraged 
householders;  the  procession  of  horribles, 
effigies,  the  average  number  of  accidents, 
and  the  late  return  of  the  merrymakers, 
extremely  overcome.  It  is  over,  and  I 
am  at  last  settled  in  my  new  home,  after 
"  most  disastrous  chances  of  moving  acci 
dents." 

"  Seem  to  have  skipped  spring  ?  "  Yes, 
it  is  an  intentional  because  actual  hiatus, 
not  skipped  or  "  lost,"  as  Miss  Phelps  lost 

(168) 


169 


a  winter  in  Florida.  Oh,  no  !  I've  been 
here,  hard  at  work,  worried,  flurried,  hur 
ried,  knowing  nothing  whatever  about 
the  tender,  radiant  miracle  of  the  bud 
ding,  blushing  New  Year  of  Nature.  It 
has  been  chaos,  siege,  purgatory  ;  a 
"  storm  and  stress  "  period,  never  to  be 
described.  As  the  old  darky  aunty  terse 
ly  expressed  it,  "  I  have  passed  through 
scenes  and  —  unscenes."  Moving,  like 
mal  de  mer,  measles,  mumps,  disappoint 
ment  in  love,  a  cold  in  the  head,  or  loss 
of  money,  is  something  that  must  be  en 
dured,  and  no  commiseration  solicited. 
You  must  go  through  it  like  the  clown 
through  the  flaming  hoop  at  the  circus, 
and,  like  him,  come  out  smiling.  I  must 
now  forget  the  Babel-bedlam  agonies  of 
"  jacking  up  "  the  sills,  putting  down 
floors,  tearing  out  partitions,  demolish 
ing  defective  chimneys  and  building  up 
again,  and  —  searching  for  water  ! 

I  was  often  congratulated  on  the  un 
failing  supply  of  water  from  the  hillside 
reservoir  at  new  "  Breezy  Meadows,"  and 
I  planned  a  generous  bathroom,  water  in 
second  story,  big  tank  in  attic,  bigger 


1 70  Qlbanboning  on  Qibopteb  .farm. 

hogshead  in  cellar,  a  fountain  in  southern 
Spanishy  court  which  should  lull  me  to 
sleep  with  its  musical  tinkle  and  plash, 
a  sprinkler  of  newest  pattern  for  the  gar 
den  and  lawn,  etc.  In  June  the  stream 
from  the  faucet  became  a  trickle,  the 
trickle  a  thread,  the  thread  a  drop,  and 
then  the  drop  disappeared !  A  dozen 
workmen  "  dry  "  and  "  almost  choked  " 
looking  bitterly  at  me.  Four  hundred 
hens  with  open  mouths  in  desperate 
thirst !  Dogs  in  all  probability  going 
mad  !  I  used  to  lie  awake  half  the  night 
studying  the  situation,  and  then  fall 
asleep  only  to  dream  of  all  my  faithful 
assistants  and  my  entire  stock  lying  stiff 
and  stark  in  distressing  attitudes,  with 
black  tongues  protruding.  "  Diviners  " 
were  sent  for  from  a  distance  to  search 
for  springs  by  means  of  a  forked  twig  of 
apple,  witch-hazel,  or  alder,  which  would 
bend  to  the  presence  of  water,  as  the 
orange  branch  bows  to  gold,  and — bless 
'em ! — those  wizards  did  find  a  full  sup 
ply,  and  my  plans  may  now  be  realized. 
And  the  reminiscent  chorus,  as  the  happy 
artisans  ply  the  pump-handle  and  the 


17  1 


"  hands  "  and  "foreman"  "jocund  drive 
the  team  afield,"  with  throats  well  moist 
ened,  and  big  cans  of  molasses  and 
WATER,  enlivened  by  liberal  doses  of 
ginger  ;  and  water,  plain  water  iced  to 
delicious  coolness,  clattering  cheerfully, 
is  very  similar  to  the  grateful  comments 
of  the  old  woman  in  the  sleeping-car. 
You  have  heard  of  her  ?  Never  mind, 
I  want  to  tell  it  once  more.  She  kept 
the  weary  passengers  awake  by  exclaim 
ing  at  intervals  :  "  Oh,  how  dry  I  am  !  " 
"Ain't  I  dry!"  "I  never  was  so  dry." 
"  Dear  me,  how  dry  I  am  !  "  At  last  one 
of  the  sufferers  arose,  donned  one  gar 
ment,  went  for  a  glass  of  water,  and  kindly 
thrust  it  between  the  curtains  from  which 
the  complaint  proceeded.  He  was  re 
warded  with  effusive  thanks  ;  but  no  soon 
er  had  he  taken  back  the  empty  tumbler, 
and  returned  to  his  berth,  with  the  hope 
of  speedy  slumber,  than  again  her  voice 
was  lifted  up,  different  words,  but  the 
same  general  effect  :  "  Oh,  wasn't  I  dry  ?" 
"  Never  was  so  dry  in  my  life  !  "  "  O,  how 
dry  I  was  !  " 

I  said  I  knew  no  spring.      Just  once, 


172  QUwnboning  an  ^bopteb  .farm. 

when  rushing  through  "  the  congested 
district "  of  Boston  looking  for  papers 
and  mattings  and  rugs  that  would  har 
monize  each  with  all  and  all  severely 
"colonial,"  I  saw  a  boy  holding  up 
bunches  of  the  trailing  arbutus.  How 
I  love  that  dainty  flower !  What  long 
tramps  I  have  taken  to  seek  it,  hidden 
under  damp,  dead  leaves  on  a  sunny  bank 
beneath  the  pines !  I  have  enough  col 
lected  from  poets  who  have  sung  its 
praises  to  make  a  beautiful  gift-book ; 
have  even  planned  the  cover  of  soft,  rich, 
earth-brown  leather,  and  the  shy-pink 
blossoms  under  the  dark  leaves.  No 
title — none  would  be  needed.  I  can  now 
smell  the  fragrance  of  the  bouquets  of 
these  beauties  which  used  to  be  hung  on 
my  door.  But  I  looked  at  those  shy 
darlings  of  the  woods  in  a  sad,  dazed 
way,  and  plunged  into  a  store  for  a  bar 
gain  in  draperies !  The  day  before,  the 
only  folding  bed  I  ever  owned  (one  war 
ranted  safe  for  a  lady,  with  no  tricks, 
and  perfectly  sound)  was  being  taken  to 
pieces,  and  the  heavy  top  fell  hard  upon 
my  head.  It  hit  upon  a  hollow  where 


fjome.  173 

the  phrenologists  say  that  Reverence  is 
absolutely  lacking,  or  I  should  have  been 
instantly  killed.  That,  with  a  score  of 
similar  casualties,  may  have  temporarily 
dulled  my  senses,  or  I  could  never  have 
passed  those  dearly  loved  heralds  of  spring. 
Once  I  was  tripped  up  by  my  own  shoestring 
when  carrying  some  precious  old  china, 
stumbled  over  a  small  table  and  followed 
its  descent,  spilling  an  ink-bottle  on  a  new 
and  light  carpet.  Again,  in  struggling 
up-stairs  with  too  big  a  load,  handicapped 
also  by  impeding  skirts,  I  have  fallen  up 
instead  of  down,  skinning  my  knee  and 
bruising  my  forehead.*  But  I  forget  my 
own  creed — "  Grin  and  bear  it,"  and  never 
bore  even  your  dearest  friends  by  a  tale 
of  woe.  I  have  had  a  pessimist  with  me, 
and  it  is  depressing  and  tiresome.  For  a 
morning  greeting,  he  would  tell  me  that 
the  fence  I  had  mended  "  war'nt  done  no 

.  *  I  felt  like  crying  like  a  child  who  is  hurt,  but 
went  to  the  window  brushing  my  damp  hair  from  a 
damper  brow,  only  to  be  accosted  by  (yes,  truly)  an 
other  agent  who  called  up  :  "I  hear  you  have  pur 
chased  this  place  recently.  Have  you  ever  contem 
plated  buying  a  mower?" 


174  Qlbcmfconinq  an  QVboptcb  .farm. 


way  thorough,  and  all  the  cows  got  out 
and  were  off  half  a  mile  before  the  men 
could  catch  up  "  ;  or  that  "  the  hens  were 
most  on  'em  broody,  seemed  possessed  to 
stick  to  nests,  were  thin  as  snakes,  and 
ought  to  have  more  care  or  they'd  all  die." 
He  had  a  touch  of  malaria,  and  was  in 
wholesome  fear  of  "gems,"  which  he  had 
read  about,  and  imagined  dread  results. 

"  Lead  pipe  didn't  poison  everybody,  but 
it  did  some  ;  but  he  didn't  want  to  say 
nothin',"  and  so  on. 

Let  us  number  "  only  the  sunny  hours  " ; 
as  the  brave  little  boy  who  went  berrying 
said,  "  I  held  up  the  full  pail  to  mother, 
and  didn't  say  anything  about  the  briers." 
There  are  times,  though,  when  the  af 
flicted  soul  cries  out  for  some  relief,  for 
some  proper  verbal  explosives.  I  seri 
ously  thought  of  borrowing  a  parrot,  but 
recollecting  that  an  excellent  minister 
had  said  that  human  nature  needed  some 
explosives,  I  carefully  coined  an  expres 
sion  which  has  proved  a  relief  to  me,  as  it 
sounds  bad,  but  is  free  from  profanity. 
One  of  my  friends,  when  deeply  roused, 
exclaims  "Sugar!"  on  the  principle,  I 


175 


suppose,  of  lumping  what  she  does  not 
like. 

As  to  furnishing  my  house,  I  am  not 
one  of  those  fortunate  people  who  can 
live  on  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a 
year,  and  have  every  comfort  and  save 
something  too.  Nor  have  I  ever  taken 
kindly  to  the  "  four  B's  "  —  barrels,  burlaps, 
bones,  and  bay  leaves  —  for  economic  cater 
ing  and  homemaking. 

Are  you  not  all  weary  of  directions, 
full-length,  for  making  barrel  chairs  ? 
Every  one  knows  that  he  can  construct 
something  to  sit  on  out  of  a  barrel;  why 
continue  the  study  endlessly  ?  I  once 
advised  a  friend  to  take  a  popular  journal 
for  ladies. 

"  Does  it  always  have  a  column  devoted 
to  barrel  chairs  ?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  no,"  I  replied.  "It  has  the  best 
women  writers  as  its  contributors." 

She  sent  for  a  sample  copy,  and  the 
first  words  that  met  her  eye  were  explicit 
directions  for  making  a  double-barreled 
chair! 

Then  —  burlaps  !  If  the  skillful  wives 
of  army  officers,  who  have  a  special  gift 


i76  Slbanboning  an  Qlbopteb  .farm. 

for  furnishing  their  quarters  effectively 
from  the  contents  of  a  moderate-sized 
trunk,  aided  by  soap  boxes  and  a  piano 
case,  choose  to  drape  with  burlaps  or  line 
their  walls  with  the  same,  all  right;  but  it 
seems  unnecessary  constantly  to  urge  its 
claims  upon  housekeepers  in  ordinary  life. 
The  furnishing  was  lately  described  of  a 
large  parlor  with  odds  and  ends  of  furni 
ture  covered  with  red  canton  flannel  and 
unbleached  cotton  in  stripes  (like  a  bar 
ber's  pole),  finished  with  a  cheap  worsted 
fringe  knotted  in  with  a  crochet  needle. 
This  savage  combination  was  used  even 
to  "  treat  "  three-legged  wooden  stools, 
much  better  looking  without  it.  The  re 
sult — semi-surgical,  semi-patriotic — must 
have  been  bad  enough  to  enrage  a  bull  in 
the  next  county.  Then,  nothing  soils 
more  quickly  than  this  red  flannel,  with 
its  rough  nap  absorbing  all  the  dust,  and 
nothing  looks  more  hopelessly  dirty  when 
soiled.  Burlaps,  in  this  case,  would  have 
done  better. 

I  once  studied  a  prize  article  on  How 
to  live  on  Five  Hundred  Dollars  per 
Year.  Each  needed  article  was  enumer- 


177 


ated.  I  remember  that  some  garment,  as 
universal  and  essential  as  overcoat  for 
the  master  of  the  house,  was  entirely  for 
gotten.  Then,  providing  for  the  table, 
the  glowing  word-pictures  that  make  my 
mouth  water,  of  delicious  meals  made  of 
almost  nothing  and  pronounced  perfect 
by  two  able-bodied,  hungry  men  —  -that  is 
aggravating  to  the  average  woman  who 
can  not  perform  miracles. 

This  is  the  usual  story.  John  sends 
word  to  his  bright-eyed,  loving  little  wifie, 
Jennie,  that  he  will  bring  home  an  old 
college  friend  to  dinner. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  house  but  a 
small  loaf  of  bread,  a  smaller  piece  of 
beef,  and  the  usual  vegetables  that  are 
kept  in  stock  in  every  house  —  and  a.  good 
supply  of  bay  leaves.  Molly,  a  raw,  un 
trained  Irish  girl,  makes,  with  little  help, 
a  most  savory  soup  of  the  beef  bone,  and 
bay  leaves  float  on  the  surface  ;  the  rem 
nant  of  beef  makes  croquettes  —  a  few  bay 
leaves  surrounding  the  platter;  the  bread 
appears,  as  do  actresses,  in  three  different 
ways  —  dice-toasted,  thick  squares  by  the 
dinner  plate,  at  last  as  a  bread  pudding 


78  ^.bonboning  an  ^bopteb  farm. 


disguised  by  raisins  and  spices.  The  linen 
is  always  spotless,  the  glass  and  silver 
shining,  and  the  two  hungry  men  are  filled 
and  serene. 

Is  this  a  general  experience  ?  Do  bay 
leaves  and  a  shining  soup-spoon  satisfy 
your  "  two  men  "  ? 

The  men  who  visit  me  hope  to  meet  the 
fattened  calf  at  Metcalf,  with  plentiful 
and  appropriate  additions.  May  we  not 
hope — feebly,  to  be  sure,  but  still  hope — 
that  there  may  some  time  be  a  blessed 
surcease  of  this  too  chronic  twaddle  about 
sitting  in  barrels,  living  on  love  and  shin 
ing  silver,  and  generous  gorges  on  bones 
and  bay  leaves  ? 

There  are  other  fallacies  which  need  to 
be  forever  refuted — that  literary  women 
are  not  good  housekeepers,  and  that  an 
unmarried  woman  can  not  make  a  home 
and  knows  nothing  of  cooking. 

Both  in  England  and  in  our  own  coun 
try  there  are  many  distinguished  authors 
who  are  also  good  wives  and  mothers; 
women  in  happy,  well-kept  homes,  with 
husbands  proud  and  fond,  sure  of  three 
good  meals  a  day  and  every  button  on. 


179 


Go  back  to  Elizabeth  Carter,  and  see  if 
you  can  not  find  old  maids  also  in  plenty 
who  were  practical  as  well  as  literary. 
Miss  Carter  was  pronounced  by  Dr.  John 
son  to  be  "  the  best  Greek  scholar  in  Eng 
land."  He  said,  "  A  man  is  in  general 
better  pleased  when  he  has  a  good  dinner 
upon  his  table  than  when  his  wife  talks 
Greek."  My  old  friend  Mrs.  Carter  could 
make  a  pudding  as  well  as  translate 
Epictetus,  and  work  a  handkerchief  as 
well  as  compose  a  poem.  (English  spin 
sters  were  addressed  as  "  Mrs."  after 
fifty.)  Hannah  More,  Jane  Austen,  Jo 
anna  Baillie,  Miss  Mitford,  Miss  Mar- 
tineau,  Caroline  Herschel,  and  many  oth 
ers,  were  famous  housekeepers.  Eliza 
Leslie,  one  of  our  bright  writers  forty 
years  ago,  published  a  cook  book  from 
tested  recipes.  Catherine  Beecher  pub 
lished  a  most  useful  book  on  household 
economies. 

I  intend  some  day  to  publish  a  prac 
tical  book  giving  other  women  "the  gist" 
of  my  experience  as  a  homemaker,  and  I 
believe  I  can  astonish  and  help  some  un 
believers.  But  I  will  not  boast  ;  only 


i8o  &banb0ning  an  ^baptcfc  .farm. 

make  a  mem.  to  buy  a  copy  when  you  see 
it  advertised ! 

Yes,  it  is  summer  now.  The  birds  tell 
me  that,  and  the  trees  they  love  to  live  in. 
I  am  glad  to  say  that  my  new  farm,  with 
its  brooks  and  groves  and  large  solitary 
trees,  is  just  a  paradise  for  birds.  They 
seem  to  have  a  sense  of  proprietorship. 

In  the  great  drooping  elm  just  south 
of  the  house  there  is  a  colony  of  nests. 
I  see  the  Baltimore  oriole  below,  and 
above  the  golden-winged  woodpecker. 
The  quick  flash  of  their  wings  and  their 
loud,  cheery  call  contrast  charmingly 
with  the  quiet  flitting  and  rich,  low  notes 
of  the  brilliant  "hang-bird."  There  is  a 
long,  dead  limb  of  the  same  tree,  honey 
combed  by  woodpeckers  of  the  past,  now 
the  abode  of  a  tribe  of  cliff  swallows. 
They  have  adopted  an  abandoned  home, 
and  in  still  evenings  they  twitter  and  cir 
cle  about  in  the  enthusiasm  of  entomo 
logical  research :  not  so  bold  and  sweep 
ing  in  their  flight  as  their  cousins  and 
neighbors  who  prefer  my  chimneys,  and 
spoil  my  newly  painted  fireplaces  with 
dropping  soot  and  broken  eggs. 


In  a  larger  hollow  of  the  old  elm  there 
was  a  nest  of  little  owls.  I  have  seen 
several  fly-catchers  in  a  pear  tree  near  the 
brook.  May  they  be  blessed  with  large 
appetites !  And  the  robins,  lots  of  them, 
started  housekeeping  with  me.  I  sympa 
thize  with  a  remark  of  the  late  Senator 
Stanford.  When  his  gardener  told  him 
that  the  robins  were  getting  his  whole  crop 
of  cherries,  he  said  :  "  Ah  !  Why,  then  we 
must  plant  more  cherry  trees."  I  sit  on 
the  porch  at  twilight  and  listen  to  the 
whip-poor-will,  the  catbird,  and  the  quail, 
but  the  robin's  song  is  the  best  of  all. 

I  can  not  write  scientifically  or  in  long 
detailed  observation  of  the  habits  and 
manners  of  birds;  could  never  spend  a 
whole  afternoon  lying  on  a  hill  concealed 
by  bushes  and  armed  with  an  opera-glass, 
and  then  report  accurately  all  I  saw.  Life 
is  too  short  for  me  to  care  to  learn  the 
languages  of  birds  or  monkeys,  or  carry 
a  phonograph  into  the  hen-yards.  But  I 
love  birds  and  value  their  friendship.  I 
even  aspire  to  a  nest  for  myself  in  one  of 
the  gigantic  twin  elms  that  meet  over  the 
northern  driveway. 


182  Qlbanfconing  an  QV&ojiteb  /arm. 

There,  on  an  aerial  platform,  embowered 
and  shaded,  with  cool  breezes  to  refresh 
and  exhilarate,  I  may  yet  have  a  "  high 
tea"  for  a  few  favored  friends.  I  do  not 
object  to  the  theory  of  arboreal  ancestry, 
and  only  wish  I  had  not  lost  the  art  of 
climbing.  I  do  not  think  of  much  else  to 
report.  I  still  keep  ducks.  A  duck  has 
been  well  defined  as  "  a  waddling  appe 
tite."  Hens  don't  pay  (me!).  I  must  fol 
low  Lowell's  example,  and  read  aloud  to 
them  on  rainy  days  the  Lay  Sermons  of 
Coleridge.  He  says  the  effect  was  magi 
cal.  My  hens  lay  plentifully  when  eggs 
are  at  the  lowest  price. 

A  woman  must  needs  be  sharper  than  a 
razor  to  farm  and  not  become  bankrupt. 
Nor  is  it  women  only  who  fail  to  make 
money  from  the  ground. 

In  a  recent  newspaper  an  amateur  mush 
room  grower  recounts  his  costly  experi 
ence,  headed,  "  $900  for  One  Mushroom  " 
— a  fact  also.  How  I  did  revel  in  his  story, 
and  chuckle  over  my  decision  last  fall  not 
to  try  mushrooms!  I  bought  a  book  of 
instructions,  but  was  discouraged  by  the 
difficulties.  I  have  all  sorts  of  sugges- 


Ijome.  183 

tions  sent  me  by  interested  friends,  and 
one  read  in  this  way  : 

"The  United  States  is  not  yet  a  large 
mushroom-consumingcountry,butl  judge 
that  she  soon  will  be.  In  France,  some 
operators  produce  from  five  hundred  to 
three  thousand  pounds  per  day.  There 
is  a  great  future  for  the  mushroom  busi 
ness  in  America,  and  more  than  a  hundred 
fortunes  await  those  who  are  prepared  to 
engage  in  the  industry." 

Ah,  yes !  And  they  can  so  easily  be 
cultivated  in  a  common  cellar  or  in  a 
horse  stall.  Oh,  how  I  long  to  give  the 
entire  story !  He  says  that  about  three 
years  ago  a  fiend  in  human  form,  with  a 
mushroom  brain,  suggested  that  he  had 
just  the  place  to  make  money  from  mush 
rooms  ;  sell  from  seventy-five  cents  to 
one  dollar  a  pound;  tremendous  profit; 
demand  always  greater  than  the  supply; 
clear  income  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  a 
year! 

First  conclusion  :  "  There's  a  vast  dif 
ference  between  a  fine  mushroom  bed  and 
a  bed  of  fine  mushrooms." 

He  went  through  all  the  mushroom  lit- 


1  84  Qlbanboning  an  Q\.bojjtc&  ^ 


erature  and  then  knew  less  than  nothing. 
They  are  raised  in  heated  manure.  First 
it  was  too  wet  ;  next  season  too  dry  ;  third 
season  the  horses  had  been  fed  on  soft 
feed  —  must  have  hard  feed.  His  house 
cost  him  nine  hundred  dollars,  and  from 
all  this  he  grew  one  mushroom  ! 

Let  me  earnestly  advise  every  woman 
in  search  of  a  paying  business  to  avoid 
mushrooms. 

I  have  recently  been  assured  that  there 
is  money  in  gooseberries,  especially  the 
green  gooseberry.  I  don't  doubt  it.  Let 
it  stay  there.  I  am  weary  of  these  highly 
colored  stories  of  profit  in  anything  that 
comes  out  of  the  earth  but  —  tobacco  and 
whisky.  I  ought  to  have  seven  hundred 
bushels  of  potatoes  this  year,  but  -  Oh, 
yes  —  but  -  But,  the  "  droot  "  and  the 
bugs  !  I  couldn't  allow  a  friend  to  go  to 
Princeton  to  be  educated,  I  am  so  preju 
diced  against  the  combination  of  black 
and  yellow  !  My  present  "  manager  "  is 
a  Boanerges  whose  voice  can  be  heard 
distinctly  for  half  a  mile,  as  he  urges  on 
the  faithful  "  Horace  "  or  accelerates  the 
home-coming  of  the  cows.  He  rises  at 


185 


half-past  three  and  works  until  it  is  dark, 
then  sends  for  a  lantern  and  keeps  right 
on.  He  believes  there  is  money  to  be 
got  out  of  a  farm,  and  is  trying  for  it.  I 
have  offered  him  half  of  the  profits,  and 
will  gladly  report  his  success.  Then  I  will 
have  a  house-warming  indeed,  and  every 
one  interested  in  my  ventures  will  be  more 
than  welcome. 

Woman  is  said  to  be  like  a  cat  :  she  can 
certainly  make  a  home  wherever  she  can 
cuddle  down  and  purr.  This  home,  my 
second  adoption,  is  all  my  own,  and  I  am 
so  grateful  for  it,  so  happy  in  it,  that  it 
will  never  be  "  abandoned." 

"  Man's  greatest  strength  is  shown  in  standing  still  ; 
The  first  sure  symptom  of  a  mind  in  health 
Is  rest  of  heart  and  pleasure  felt  at  home." 


THE    END. 


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